


Don't Close Your Eyes

by Hot_elf



Series: Dragon Age - series 4 (Percival Cousland) [3]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 03:44:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hot_elf/pseuds/Hot_elf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Percival Cousland is an ambitious young man, and he has set his sight on the biggest prize of all: the throne of Ferelden. Now all he has to do is convince Queen Anora that he's the ideal consort for her. NOT a romantic love story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 1 and 2 have been substantially rewritten - I just felt I could do better. ;)

**Don't Close Your Eyes**

It was late at night when they finally withdrew to their chambers. Anora kept patiently still while her attendants helped her undress and took care of her hair. The wedding had been a relatively subdued affair, with only a select handful of guests from the highest ranks of the nobility, but there had been the usual array of endless speeches and ceremonies.

Anora was glad it was over. She shot a quick, sideways glance at Percival on the other side of the room. He looked tired as well, but when he noticed her looking, he flashed her a smile. She smiled back. _My new husband_. Percival Cousland. Some part of her still found it hard to believe.

This was not how she had imagined her future, half a year ago. Things had looked so desperate then, with the land torn by Civil War, threatened by a Blight, no one she could trust, no one who would take her side. Until that night…

_"So I take it you don't find Arl Eamon's plan all that appealing?" His voice rang out loud and clear, and Anora nearly jumped up from her desk where she had been seated, her face buried in her hands._

_The other Warden. Young Cousland, Percival, that was his name. Anora didn't remember much about him from before the Blight. His brother Fergus had been one of Cailan's drinking companions and she had known him well. Percival had been just a kid back then, at least ten years younger than she was. Of course he was a grown man now, strong and broad-shouldered. Not unattractive, with his thick, dark hair and the rather rakish moustache he sported._

_"No, I don't. But I'd hardly expect you to understand." Her voice was icy. They had spent the afternoon in her study with Arl Eamon outlining the details of his plan. She would be able to remain Queen, if she agreed to marry Alistair, Maric's bastard. The prospective groom had been there as well, a shy, goofy boy, who looked enough like his father and brother to make further proof of his parentage unnecessary. She shuddered._

_"Try me." Percival shrugged. "You might be surprised. Though of course you're under no obligation to explain yourself to me or anyone else."_

_Anora closed her eyes. "Alistair... He looks like Cailan. He talks like Cailan, smiles like Cailan. But he isn't Cailan, and never will be."_

_She looked up to find Percival watching her, his face calm and unreadable. To her surprise, she suddenly found that she wanted to go on, to make him see. "Don't get me wrong, I didn't love Cailan, not after everything he did. I didn't hate him either. But..."_

_"But you still don't want to be reminded of him every time you look at your new husband." He finished for her, his tone carefully neutral._

_No pity, no condescension. Anora was grateful. He was silent for a while, and when he spoke again, he enunciated each word carefully, slowly, as if feeling his way through what he wanted to say._

_"There may be a different solution, you know. There's more than enough noble blood in Ferelden without having to resort to making a bastard king." He didn't elaborate, didn't say more than that, just left the room, giving her space to think. He didn't approach her again in the days to come._

_Anora took her time to consider his words. Three days passed before she walked over to his quarters in the evening and knocked on his door. Percival opened immediately, and when he saw her, stepped aside, beckoning her to enter. With exquisite politeness, he escorted her over to the table and offered her a chair._

_He was wearing house clothes of fine cut and quality, made from heavy green velvet, carefully embroidered. It was obvious he was used to taking care with his appearance, even in the privacy of his quarters. Vanity? Or just a lifelong habit of keeping up appearances? Anora realized she was thinking far more about his motivations than she'd intended to._

_He had been busy cleaning and whetting his sword. A plain grey iron longsword, far less ornate than she would have expected of him. His eyes followed her gaze._

_"The Cousland family sword," he remarked. "They say it's been in our family since the days of King Calenhad."_

_Anora raised an eyebrow at this reminder of his family's past. One of the oldest noble lines in the country, and one of the finest, even though they hadn't always been the most loyal. Of course, he was only the younger son. Fergus would inherit the Teyrnir, if there would be anything to inherit after the Blight, and Percival would be stuck with one of the lesser holdings. Not an appealing prospect for an ambitious young man._

_She decided to be blunt. "If I marry again, if I marry you, things will have to change. I am tired of ruling in my husband's name while he goes off to play."_

_He nodded. "I wouldn't expect you to. But what if you had a strong king beside you?"_

_"A strong king?" She looked him over carefully. "No. A prince-consort. This gets you near the throne, but I am the Queen."_

_Percival shrugged. "All right. I don't care about the title. But I need to be in charge of the armies."_

_Anora nodded. "That won't be a problem. I don't think anyone would question your military prowess after what you've achieved in the past year. On the other hand, you don't know anything about the day-to-day business of governing."_

_"No, I don't." He looked at her intently. "But I'm willing to learn. And I am sure you can teach me all I need to know."_

_She threw him a sharp look, suspecting flattery, but he seemed completely matter-of-fact. "Then I guess we have an agreement."_

_He nodded slowly, but then surprised her by taking her hand. "Anora, if we're doing this, I'm not just doing it to get near the throne. If you marry me, I don't want you to be my wife in name only."_

_Anora didn't flinch. "That goes without saying. Ferelden needs an heir. And soon."_

_"Yes, but..." Percival hesitated. "I don't want you to just close your eyes and think of Ferelden. Promise you'll give me a chance, Anora. Please."_

_She was too surprised to do anything but nod._

The next months had passed in a blur, momentous events chasing each other in an almost uninterrupted sequence.

First, the Landsmeet, when Percival had won the nobles over in an impressive show of strength and cunning. But more than that, he had honoured his promise to his future Queen and spared Loghain's life, even though it had cost him Alistair's support. Anora had sworn she wouldn't forget that.

Then, the Battle of Denerim, when she had addressed her troops, giving them new courage, and Percival had taken down the Archdemon with a mighty blow of his sword. Their losses had been daunting, but they had done it. They had stopped the Blight and beaten back the Darkspawn.

And finally, the victory celebrations, culminating in her coronation. Her people had celebrated her with enthusiastic acclamations of joy and support, their excitement reaching a fever pitch when she had announced her intention to marry Percival.

The Hero of Ferelden and the victorious Queen. A perfect match.

* * *

_So, this is it. Our wedding night._ Percival was nervous, more than he would ever have admitted.

For as long as he could remember, he'd worshipped Anora. He vividly recalled the day when Cailan had presented his beautiful young queen to the court, proud and hopeful. She had been so lovely, with her long flaxen hair and her delicate features, so young, so sweet, so perfect.

She had changed since then. Her features had become sharper, harder, more determined, but she was still beautiful. He respected and admired her more than ever, knowing what she had achieved in the years since Cailan's death, how she had held up in the face of all the adversity. But he was acutely aware that she was his wife now. No idol to be put on a pedestal, but a living, breathing woman. A woman who would share his bed, who would bear his children, with any luck.

They had spent as much time as possible together in the weeks leading up to the wedding, discussing politics and strategy, trying to get to know each other better. She had cried out with delight when she'd found that he had read some of her favourite authors on statecraft. He had been impressed by her skill with a bow, when she had joined him at the archery range for morning practice. Percival sighed. Yes, they had become friendly enough.

This, however, was different. When the servants finally left them alone, Anora turned to him, her face just as apprehensive as his. She was wearing a fine, lacy white nightgown, and her hair had been unbraided and carefully brushed. She looked different this way, young and vulnerable, and beautiful.

For a moment they just stared at each other, her clear blue eyes taking in his body, clad only in a thin linen shirt and matching pants. Then she smiled, a small, hesitant smile, and walked over to him, standing on tiptoes to brush her lips against his. It was a feather light touch and it made him tremble. Very carefully, he cupped her head with his hand, drawing her closer and kissing her back, firmly but chastely.

"We don't have to do this tonight. If you don't want to, I mean." Percival had meant his words to sound confident and relaxed, but he realized he sounded nervous instead.

Anora smiled again. "Oh, but I want to." She laughed at his startled expression. "What is it? You know I'm not a blushing virgin, don't you?"

When she kissed him again, it was far from chaste, and Percival couldn't hold back a low groan, couldn't resist pulling her closer, molding her body to his. She responded with a soft sigh, tangling her fingers in his hair and arching up into his touch. They took their time kissing, exploring, tasting each other, and when he finally let go of her, she was breathless and flushed, and he was trembling with want.

Taking his hand, Anora led him over to the bed that had been lovingly prepared for them, decked out in pristine white linens that smelled of lavender. It was a huge four-poster, made from heavy oak with carvings of deer and mabari hounds. Not precisely romantic, but he quickly forgot about that as she lay down on the sheets and pulled him on top of her. Eagerly his hands wandered over her body, tracing her curves through the thin nightgown, slipping under the seam and trying to push it up. He hesitated, looking searchingly at Anora's face. She had tensed under his touch, a little of her initial reserve back in place, and he cursed inwardly. This wouldn't do.

"What do you want me to do?" He took her hand. "Tell me."

She smiled. "Kiss me again. Like you did before."

He did, and again her whole body responded, and he could feel her, pressed along his torso, soft and yielding, but this time she took his hand and moved it down to her breasts, moaning when he brushed against a nipple. It took all his patience to hold back, but he waited until she moved his hands to the lacings of her gown. Only then did he untie them, sliding the flimsy garment down over her shoulders, baring her to his gaze. Her skin was soft and creamy white, and he couldn't resist any longer, couldn't keep himself from kissing her, nuzzling her long, graceful neck, then moving deeper until his lips finally found her breasts.

Anora didn't remain passive. While he was caressing her, her hands were busy unlacing his shirt, then his pants, wrapping her long graceful fingers around him, making him gasp. When he pulled her close again, they both moaned at the feel of skin on skin, heated and oversensitive.

It progressed very easily from there, a slow but steady build-up of passion until she opened up for him, spreading her long legs wide. When he entered her, her lips parted in a deep sigh, but her eyes were firmly shut. He bit his lip.

"Anora. Don't close your eyes. Please. Look at me." He needed her to be here, with him, needed to be sure her mind wasn't elsewhere.

When she did as he asked, all doubts were gone. Her expression was tender, her gaze cloudy with arousal. Percival held her firmly until she relaxed, flushed and content. She remained in his arms afterwards, until he fell asleep, a satisfied smile on his face. He felt confident and optimistic. They were a good match. Life at her side would suit him fine.

 


	2. Anything for Ferelden

**Anything for Ferelden**

Anora sighed under her breath as she looked across the table at her husband. Percival was deep in conversation with his brother about the political implications of this afternoon's meeting of the Crown Council. On her left, her father was tucking into his roast joint, listening attentively and throwing in an occasional observation. _Family dinner at the Royal Palace. I wonder if the common people realize how unglamorous an occasion this is._

Percival glanced over and smiled absent-mindedly at her and Anora smiled back. So far their marriage had turned out well. He was a quick study and she valued his help and support. She also appreciated how unfailingly courteous and polite he was toward her, and she knew he wasn't disappointed with her either. A perfect match, except... They had been married for a little over a year now, and there was still no sign of an heir. It was certainly not for lack of trying. Percival was eager, and she enjoyed his attentions, more than she ever had with Cailan.

Still, the whispers were starting again. And she herself worried as well. Percival might be young and virile, but he was a Grey Warden. What if the Taint had already progressed so far that he couldn't father children? She knew she should talk to him, but she didn't dare mention her fears to him. Percival was a proud man, some might even call him vain. Anora couldn't admit it, not even to herself, but she was mortally afraid he would react as Cailan had. Her first husband's drunken accusations still rang in her ears. _Barren. Useless_. _Any farm girl would have been a better choice._

Her eyes turned to Fergus. Percival's elder brother. An attractive man, without any doubt. And he had already fathered a son... Anora held her breath as an idea began to form in her mind. _Fergus_. He was a Cousland too. If the heir to the throne should happen to look like him, it would be nothing unusual. Many children favoured their uncles or aunts.

Later that night Erlina was getting her ready for bed, brushing and braiding her hair and putting away her clothes. The Elven woman was still her most loyal and trusted servant, and Anora knew she could rely on her discretion.

"It's a pity Teyrn Fergus hasn't remarried," she casually remarked. "It appears he is still grieving for his wife."

Erlina snorted. "He may not have married again, milady, but trust me, the Teyrn is far from celibate. Word among the servants is he keeps a pretty mistress in a townhouse here in Denerim. And he's been seen at the Pearl. Whatever his reasons are for not marrying again, he's definitely not averse to... carnal pleasures."

"Indeed?" Anora chewed her lip, letting her thoughts wander. Maybe she had just found the answer to her biggest problem.

* * *

"No, Anora. Absolutely not. What makes you think I'd agree to such a preposterous plan?" Fergus could hardly believe his ears. "Percy and I may not see eye to eye on everything, but he's my brother and I love him. I could never-"

During an after-dinner stroll in the palace gardens with a company of assorted nobles, Anora had drawn him aside and outlined her plan in a few sparse words.

"Calm down, Fergus." Anora raised a hand in a soothing gesture. "Please don't make a scene."

"I don't want to hear another word!" He was trembling with righteous indignation. Never in his wildest dreams would he have expected Anora to come up with such an idea.

"Do you think I'm proposing this for my personal pleasure?" Ignoring the disbelieving shake of his head, Anora went on. "Trust me, Fergus, this is as much in Percival's and your best interest as in mine."

"What do you mean?" Against his better judgment, he was intrigued. Anora had always had a good head for politics.

"If we don't manage an heir very soon, how long do you think it will take until Arl Eamon produces another pretender?" Anora raised an eyebrow. "Every day I see him watching, waiting for his chance. If he gets his way, it will mean the end of our reign. And if we don't just step aside, there'll be another civil war. Is that what you want, Fergus? Do you want to see the good people of Highever suffer again, now that they're just about to recover from the Blight?"

Her words did make sense, in a way. But, that didn't matter. "No, Anora. Never. There has to be another solution."

She nodded, her face betraying no emotion. "There may be. We shall see." Raising her voice, Anora turned to go. "Aren't the roses lovely at this time of the year?"

Fergus was still trembling when he returned to his house in Denerim. How could she even consider such a thing? The mere idea was an affront to his honour. Yet, her words kept surfacing in his mind in the weeks to come. _A civil war_. No, he didn't want that. There was no doubt that it would help everyone involved if the succession were finally assured. But, how could he do that to his brother?

He kept glancing Anora's way whenever he saw her, but she looked just as serene, just as collected as usual. It seemed she had indeed accepted his refusal.

Then, about three weeks after their conversation in the rose garden, a messenger arrived at the gates, bearing the torn and tattered standard of Waking Sea. When he fell to his knees before Anora's throne, his face was covered in blood and tears.

"What happened?" Anora didn't waste words.

"Bann Alfstanna is dead, your Majesty." The messenger closed his eyes to collect himself. "She was leading our troops against a band of insurgents near the coast when she was ambushed. She took an arrow to the chest."

"Alfstanna! She will be greatly missed." Anora's lips were set in a thin line. "We will send troops to support you and avenge her death. There will be no mercy granted to any of the rebels."

The messenger nodded, swaying on his feet. "Yes, your Majesty. You have our gratitude. But, there might be more resistance than you expect. The common people…" He swallowed. "The rebel's leader, they call him Ser Theirin. They say he's one of King Maric's-"

"Enough." Anora raised her hand to silence him. "No mercy."

Her eyes met Fergus' for a moment, and he had to look away. _Rebellion._ _Civil war_. The threat was real, no doubt about it. And he… Could he really put his own honour above the lives of so many? Did his feelings even matter, when the welfare of his country was at stake?

Anora readily agreed to meet him in the chapel after dark. When he arrived at the appointed hour, she was already there, her slim body wrapped in a dark, hooded cloak.

"Fergus." She threw back the hood. "You said you wanted to talk to me."

"How can you be so sure the whole thing is Percy's fault?" Without preamble, he threw the question at her. Anora grew pale, but he went on. It had to be said. "You and Cailan-"

"I've seen every healer in Denerim, Fergus, and there is nothing wrong with me." Anora's hands were trembling slightly, but her voice remained calm and her face serene. "Maker knows we've tried, but the Taint-" She broke off.

Fergus nodded slowly. "You realize it is treason you're talking about?"

"Oh, come on, Fergus." Anora gave a small, bitter laugh. "They wanted Cousland blood on the throne, and they will get it. And no one will ever know." Her face softened. "Please. Let us try, at least. It's for the good of Ferelden, you know it is." She sounded almost desperate. "Is the thought of lying with me really that disagreeable to you?"

His head snapped up. "You know it isn't."

Anything but, if he was completely honest. Just like all the other noblemen of his generation, he had always admired Anora. Only a blind man would have failed to notice her beauty, her wit, and her many other qualities. Still, he had never allowed himself to think of her that way. She had been betrothed to Cailan since before he could remember. And he himself had been happily married.

The Blight Year had changed it all. He had lost his beloved wife and his son. _Oren. My boy_. The memory still hurt, always would. And Anora had ended up marrying his little brother, of all people. He still couldn't quite fathom how that had happened, but the two of them seemed comfortable together, caring and friendly, if not exactly madly in love.

Anora was still looking at him, her face unreadable, waiting patiently for his decision.

"All right." Watching her carefully, he didn't miss the tiny slump of her shoulders at his words. _She looks relieved. Of course._ They were all worried about the succession, but to her the matter was far more personal.

"When should we..." He blushed when he realized what he was asking.

Wrapping herself in the cloak, she flashed him the tiniest smile. "I'll let you know."

* * *

It was easy enough to find a distraction for Percival when the time was right. He was always eager to meet with foreign dignitaries, so when she asked him to host a dinner for a delegation from the Anderfels, he agreed enthusiastically. Anora found she couldn't meet his eyes when he kissed her goodnight.

"Don't wait up for me." He was smiling, a happy, almost boyish grin. "I expect they will keep me busy till late at night. Maker, I bet they have amazing stories to tell!"

Fergus arrived only a short while after his brother had left. Erlina had arranged for him to be smuggled in through the maze of back corridors the servants used to be able to wait discreetly on their masters. He looked uncomfortable, and Anora couldn't blame him. She was feeling far from sure about the wisdom of her plan herself.

Taking a deep breath she walked over to the bed and turned to face him. "Fergus. Let's get this over with."

He followed her, but flinched at her words. "No, Anora. Not like this. I can't..." Taking her hand into his, he raised his other palm to softly cup her cheek. "There's no need for us to punish ourselves for what we're about to do, Anora. We both know we're not acting for selfish motives."

His fingers were stroking her temple, a feather light touch, but it made her shiver. Were her motives really that pure? Suddenly she wasn't sure anymore...

"Well?" He raised an eyebrow.

Anora bit her lip. "The healer told me I'd have a far better chance of conceiving if I... enjoyed the act."

A shudder went through his body at her words and his grip tightened, bringing her mouth closer to his. She hadn't planned to kiss him at all, just to let him do what needed to be done, but as soon as their lips touched, they both gasped, and it was as if a dam had broken.

The passion and fire in his kiss took her breath away. Ever since Fergus had defied his family's expectations to marry an unknown beauty from Antiva, she had suspected there was more to him than the calm, jovial face he showed to the world. He and Oriana had been all over each other, Cailan had told her once, a smirk on his handsome face as he added a bawdy joke about the particular talents of Antivan women.

Whether he had learned it from his wife or not, there could be no doubt that Fergus was an amazing kisser. When he let go of her, Anora was swaying on her feet and had no desire to object as he pushed her back until they sank down on the bed.

He definitely knew what he was doing. His lips and fingers unerringly found sensitive places all over her body, and he had her panting and begging for more faster than she could have imagined.

Looking down at his dark head, she felt a curious thrill at the thought of what she was about to do. Anora rarely strayed from the path of virtue, and being here with her husband's brother, feeling him caress her most secret places, made her feel both ashamed of herself and wonderfully wicked. Overcome with lust, she completely forgot about Ferelden, about the need for an heir, and gave herself over to a pleasure that was all the more delicious for being forbidden.

* * *

Percival sighed deeply as he made his way back to his chambers. The ambassador from the Anderfels had been an interesting conversationalist, learned and eloquent. But then he had had some sort of violent reaction to the almonds in the blancmange served for dessert. Of course the healer who had been called in post-haste had been able to deal with the nasty rash, but the evening had been spoiled, and the ambassador had retired early.

Back in his room, Percival checked the time. It really wasn't all that late. On impulse, he headed for the secret passageway that would take him to Anora's suite. If she was still awake, they could have a pleasant chat, and maybe more. Maybe tonight they would be lucky and he would finally get her pregnant...

He was about to knock on the panel leading to her room, when he heard noises from the other side. A low moan from Anora made him frown. It wasn't like her to be so noisy, even if she had decided to take matters into her own hands tonight. Then he heard a deep, answering groan and he blanched.

Slowly, carefully, he inched the panel open. From where he was standing, he had a clear view of her bed, but it took him several minutes to process what he was seeing. Anora was lying naked on the bed, her long white legs wrapped around a man's torso, her head lolling on the pillow in ecstasy. The man was moving with exquisite slowness, completely focussed on her pleasure, his naked back toward Percival. All he could see was thick dark hair and broad shoulders, but then the man threw back his head and it took all his control not to scream. _Fergus!_

He staggered back to his room, unable to say how he got there, feeling too numb to think clearly. Draining a large goblet of wine, he sank into a chair by the fireplace and stared into the flames. Fergus. His own brother. The enormity of her betrayal hit him like a whip. For a moment he felt like crying, but then his face hardened. She would pay. They would both pay.

* * *

Anora was her usual serene self at breakfast, smiling at him and asking about his evening. But he was prepared, and didn't even bat an eyelash as he told her he had gone straight to sleep, being tired from the boar hunt earlier in the day. Inside his head, however, he was considering elaborate scenarios for punishing her. _Soon. You will regret this._

First he had to know more, though. He would bide his time until their next tryst, follow them, and watch them again, much as the thought disgusted him. And then he would plan his revenge.

To his surprise, it was almost four weeks until Anora set him up with another _important_ evening appointment. He didn't miss the nervous shaking of her hands as she told him, but he didn't let on he'd noticed anything out of the ordinary. As soon as he could, he excused himself and headed for the secret passage.

Sure enough, they were at it again. This time Fergus was taking her from behind, on all fours. _Like the bitch she is._ It took all his control not to storm into the room and expose their adultery immediately, but Percival held back, waiting, watching, filled with a curious excitement when Anora cried out with abandon.

Fergus pulled back with a deep sigh. "Maker, Anora, I just hope it did the trick this time. I don't care whether Ferelden needs an heir. I can't do this. I can't look my little brother in the eye anymore."

From his hiding place, Percival froze when he heard his brother's words. Suddenly he understood _. So this is why... Maker, why didn't she talk to me? We could have..._ At the same time, he knew that this particular solution to the succession problem wasn't one he would have been open to. All his life he had both looked up to Fergus and envied him. To have his brother take his place here, in his bed, with his wife...

A wife who had obviously enjoyed what she was doing, whatever her motives. Percival swallowed hard. He would keep quiet about this and play along. Maker knew, he understood the need for an heir as well as she did, and the cool, calculating part of his brain could appreciate the beauty of her plan. But he was also hurting inside, bitterly, and he doubted he would be able to forgive her.

* * *

Ten months later, the noble families of Ferelden assembled for a joyous occasion. The heir to the throne was to be named in a solemn ceremony in the Chantry. Eight days earlier Anora had given birth to a fine, healthy boy with dark eyes and a shock of dark hair, proclaimed by everyone to be the spitting image of his father.

Percival held the child in his arms, every inch the proud father, and when the Revered Mother asked for his name, he pronounced it in a clear, carrying voice. "Bryce Gareth Dane Cousland".

Teyrn Fergus, who was at his brother's side, swept the queen a deep bow. "Congratulations, your Majesty. This is a good day for Ferelden."

Percival turned to face his brother and their eyes met. For a second, each held the other's gaze, their faces carefully devoid of expression.

Percival nodded slowly. "A good day indeed. For Ferelden."


	3. Convenient Arrangements

**Convenient Arrangements**

Anora frowned when Erlina dropped the hairbrush for the third time. "What's the matter, Erlina? Are you upset about something?"

The maid sighed. "I am sorry, your Majesty. It's just... something I learned today, from Suze, the chambermaid. She heard it from Devon. I don't exactly know how to tell you."

_Devon_. Anora's ears pricked up at the name. Percival's personal manservant. Not usually all that forthcoming with information, so this probably meant Percival wanted her to know.

She sighed. Ever since Dane's birth two years ago, the distance between them had grown. The pregnancy had been difficult, and the healers had advised against him touching her until the child was born. Afterwards... Percival was still exquisitely polite and considerate in their everyday dealings. But his nights were spent elsewhere, and there were no more fiery glances in her direction. Erlina kept her informed of his occasional amorous dalliances, but there hadn't been anything serious, not up to now.

"What did Devon say?"

"Your husband... he intends to take a mistress. That Davenport girl, Marie, you know, the pretty dark-haired one." Erlina's lips pursed up in disapproval. " _Salaud_! How can he do this to you after all you've been through with King Cailan and his-"

Anora cut her off with a quick gesture. "Enough, Erlina. Percival is nothing like Cailan." She bit her lip hard. "I'm no foolish young girl. The problem with Cailan wasn't that he had other women. We both knew ours wasn't a romantic love match, and I never expected him to remain faithful. No." Her face hardened. "The problem with Cailan was his utter failure to take responsibility for anything, from the government of his kingdom to our marriage. His lack of respect for me, too. Percival is different."

Erlina snorted. "All men are alike, milady, at least once they start thinking with their other head."

Anora shook her head. "I need to talk to him. I'm sure we can come to a reasonable arrangement."

 

* * *

 

Percival wasn't surprised when Anora asked him for a word in private. He had counted on Erlina to inform her about his plans. He didn't like the Orlesian maid, but he rather admired the efficiency of her spy network.

Looking at his wife, seated opposite him in a fine antique armchair in her suite, he tried to analyze his feelings, to make sure he wouldn't be swayed by emotions. Anora was beautiful, efficient, competent. They still worked well together, their strengths complementing each other for the good of the kingdom. He knew he needed her to reign, and she needed him. There had been a time when he had hoped for much more than this, but this hope had died the night he had discovered her betrayal.

He sighed. Not that it had been completely unexpected. He had known she could be ruthless when he'd married her. And if he was honest, the outcome of her actions had been beneficial to them all. Dane was a fine, healthy boy, whose charm had the whole court captivated. And the common people worshipped Anora, now that the succession was secure. Arl Eamon had grudgingly retired to Redcliffe, his intrigues thwarted for the time being.

"Anora." Percival inclined his head politely toward her. "What is it you want to talk about?"

She was nervous, judging by the trembling of her hands, but her voice was calm and clear. For an instant, he was gripped by the same sincere admiration that had made him court her in the first place. _My Queen._

"It has come to my attention that you intend to make Marie Davenport your official mistress." She waited for him to nod before she went on. "A wise course of action, it seems to me. I'd much rather you restrict your attentions to just one girl, and from what I hear she is unlikely to cause any trouble."

He smiled coldly. "Oh yes, Marie is a sweet girl. Not the brightest perhaps, but gentle and loving. No need to worry about her, my dear. She won't be bothering you. And of course I had planned on informing you of my intentions before I take any steps to make it official."

Anora nodded. "I do understand that you have... needs. You haven't come to my bed in a long time."

She didn't ask why, but he could see how much effort even that terse statement had cost her. For a moment he was tempted to cross the distance between them, to take her in his arms and kiss her like he had on their first night together. But then he remembered. _Anora writhing in Fergus' embrace, her face alight with bliss, her pale skin flushed with arousal._

His lips pressed together in a thin line. "What would be the point, Anora? We have our heir, and it would be silly to pretend there ever was another reason for us to share a bed."

This time there was no mistaking the brief flash of pain crossing her features. The momentary triumph he felt immediately turned into a hollow feeling of loss, though. Instinctively he reached out for her, but she had already risen and walked over toward the window, gazing out with unseeing eyes.

"As you wish. Anyway, I trust you will handle this with decency, and above all, make sure there won't be any children born from this... union. We don't want to endanger Dane's position when the time comes for him to inherit the throne."

Percival exhaled sharply. "Well, it's not as if that is likely to happen, is it?" He hardly recognized his own voice, strangled and breaking on the last words.

Anora whirled back around just in time to see his face, during that brief unguarded moment. Her hand went up to her throat and she swallowed hard.

"How long have you known?" The words escaped her lips before she could help it.

Percival's lips turned up in a sneer. "All the time. I saw you with him when-" He broke off. "It doesn't matter, Anora. Not anymore."

"Percival, please." For an instant, her eyes were full of naked emotion. "You don't know what it was like with Cailan, the insults, the accusations. When a year had gone by, I panicked. Please understand, I couldn't..."

"I do understand." His tone was cool, his face implacable. "You did what you thought was necessary. I just..." He faltered briefly. "I just expected more of Fergus."

His brother had retired to Highever soon after Dane's birth. Last year he had remarried, a pretty young girl from the Bannorn who had given him a daughter already. He hardly ever came to Denerim nowadays. Other councillors had replaced him, but no one Percival could trust as much as he had his own blood.

Anora sighed, passing her hand in front of her eyes. "Don't blame Fergus, Percival. It was my idea, all of it. He only agreed because he genuinely wanted to help you."

"Yes, no doubt that is what he told himself." Percival's sardonic smile held no hint of warmth.

Anora closed her eyes. "I never wanted this to happen, Percival. I wish it could have been different."

He nodded, his serene mask firmly in place again. "So do I, believe me. Is there anything else you wish to discuss, my dear?"

Anora opened her mouth to speak, but then she shook her head. Silently she accepted his deep bow and watched him leave the room.

 

* * *

 

Percival rolled off Marie's warm, willing body and lay back contentedly, allowing himself a brief smile at the sight of her happy, sated face. She might not be a match for him intellectually, but her enthusiasm in bed was hard to resist. He ran his hand appreciatively over her curvy hip, before slapping her briefly, indicating that he wanted her to leave. She took the hint, compliant as always, grabbing her clothes and withdrawing to her room without a word of protest.

Most nights he let her stay and warm his bed after he had taken his pleasure from her, but tonight he needed time to think. The conversation with Anora had shaken him more than he cared to admit. He hadn't planned to let her know he had seen through her charade. It had always seemed more politic to keep that knowledge to himself and save it for an occasion when he might need it to keep her in check. But today he had slipped and let her see how much she had hurt him.

Percival bit his lip. Damn Anora! He had to hand it to her - she still knew how to get to him. The way she'd handled the situation had been nothing short of amazing. Thinking of her cool blue eyes, of the steely determination in her look and the way she'd held herself upright, proud and unflinching, he felt a shudder run through his body.

For the first time in two years, he seriously contemplated walking over to her suite, like he used to do, to take her into his arms and make love to her, break that icy composure. He made a face when he realized what he was considering. Facing Anora, fresh from his mistress's embrace, Marie's scent still clinging to him. No. Not a good idea. And yet... the thought of those long white legs wrapped around his body, the memory of Anora's haughty features turning soft as he made her cry out in pleasure, affected him enough that he regretted sending Marie away so soon.

With a sigh, he got up and wandered over to his desk, looking for something suitably dry to take his mind off his current predicament. It was fortunate, really, that there was always some administrative business that needed attending.

 

* * *

 

When Percival entered the nursery the next morning, Dane smiled up at him, a hopeful expression on his chubby little face.

"Papa! Up!" The boy stretched his arms towards him, and Percival scooped him up with a low chuckle, brushing a lock of thick, dark hair back from his forehead.

Dane looked so much like him. No one at court had ever questioned his parentage. He was a bright, sweet little boy who loved to cuddle with his nanny and basked in his parents' attention during their frequent visits. Anora took good care of the child's upbringing. His attendants were chosen with the utmost care and he lacked for nothing. And the queen herself was gentle and loving with her son, if not overly demonstrative in her affections.

He kissed the soft pink cheek. "What are your plans for today, son?"

Listening to the child's excited chatter with a smile, he felt a painful sting at the realization that Dane was all he would ever have. Well, except for the child Morrigan had conceived that night, more than three years ago. Yet the witch was gone, disappeared the morning after she'd lain with him, and he would never know his child, couldn't even be sure they were alive.

Dane, on the other hand... His grip on the boy tightened, so much so that he started to squirm and wiggle out of his arms. Percival followed Dane with his gaze as he ran over to get a toy from the shelf. _You're my son, no matter what your mother did._ The feeling was so intense he had to force back the tears welling up in his eyes. _My son. My heir. The first Cousland to sit on Ferelden's throne. That's all that counts._


	4. Complications

**Complications**

"My lord?" Marie's large, brown eyes were regarding him with a curious expression, somewhere between excitement and fear. "There's something I need to tell you."

Percival sighed. He had thoroughly enjoyed his evening with her so far, the massage she'd given him, followed by slow, leisurely lovemaking. It was so utterly relaxing to be in Marie's company, never having to worry about courtly intrigues or the political ramifications of what he said. When he was with her, it was all warm bodies, pleasant smiles and willing compliance.

He was feeling too sated and sleepy to listen to whatever her problem was, but he probably owed it to her to make an effort. "What is it, Marie? Has Anora been bothering you?"

She shook her head, biting her lower lip. "No, not at all." Looking up at him, she took a deep breath. "I'm with child."

"You are what?" He was wide awake in an instant, his voice louder than he had meant it to be, his eyes growing hard. "But-"

Her lips began to quiver. "I'm sorry, my lord, if this makes you angry. I-"

Percival shook his head, regretting his outburst immediately. "Forgive me, Marie. No, I'm not angry. Just... surprised."

He pulled her closer, placing a hand on her stomach, feeling her relax against him, but his mind was racing. _How is this possible? Could she have been with somebody else?_ He dismissed the thought immediately. Even if Marie had been capable of such treachery - and he didn't trust anyone completely these days - practically all her nights were spent in his bed, and her days were taken up with courtly duties. Besides, his spies were watching her, to make sure she didn't get it into her pretty head to meddle in politics. No, this child had to be his, no matter how improbable it seemed.

He stroked her luscious black hair softly. "I'm not angry, my sweet. But..." He raised her hand to his lips, kissing her fingertips and looking into her open, trusting eyes. "The Queen may be. We'll have to be careful."

Marie's eyes widened in renewed fear and he squeezed her hand tighter. "Don't worry. I'll make plans. Have you told anyone else?"

She shook her head. "Only you, my lord."

"Good girl." He smiled absent-mindedly at her as he got out of bed, reaching for his quill and some parchment. "Sleep now. You may have to leave early in the morning."

It didn't take him long to compose the letter to his brother, his lips pressed together hard in a determined line. Fergus owed him. And he needed Marie to be safe. Percival was under no illusions about how Anora would react to the news of this pregnancy. But he had no intention of letting her know. Officially, he would ask Fergus to find a minor nobleman for Marie to marry. His heart was beating faster as he added a postscript in a code Fergus and he had used as boys.

_I'm relying on your discretion in this matter, brother. You will look after Marie for me. Should anything happen to her or the child in her belly, I will expose what you did, regardless of the consequences. Don't fail me again._

The next morning, he sent Marie off to Highever.

When Anora inquired why he had sent her away, he shrugged, his face a mask of bored indifference. "She was getting clingy. And frankly, a little dull. I'm better off without her, and I'm sure some Bann's younger son will be happy to have her."

Anora seemed surprised, but didn't ask further. _She's probably worried I'll replace Marie with someone less pliable._ Well, he had no intention of doing so.

 

* * *

 

Percival's life got lonelier after Marie's departure, and he was glad for the distraction when Satinalia came around. It was the first time Dane was old enough to understand what the holiday was about. The boy's eyes were round with wonder at the sight of the festively decorated rooms, and he couldn't get enough of listening to the bards and minstrels and their Feastday songs.

Of course the gifts were the main attraction. Percival had gotten him a beautifully crafted wooden toy horse as a present, while Anora had chosen a wallop ball and mallet, made to fit his diminutive size. For once, they were both present in the nursery when Dane got up in the morning, eager to unwrap his presents.

Percival felt his chest contract at the sight of the boy's happy smile. Of course the new toys had to be tried out straight away, and it took only a few attempts at batting the ball until he stumbled over the mallet and went down on the floor with a loud wail of pain. The nanny wasn't there to console him, so Anora picked up her son herself, gathering him in her arms and crooning a lullaby until he had stopped sniffling.

As Percival watched them both, he was struck by another wave of pain and regret. The sight of Anora holding Dane close, her face full of loving concern, touched him deep inside. If only their life could have been as it seemed today! If only he had got Anora pregnant straight away, they'd be sitting here now, a happily married couple with their child, the product of their love crowning their happiness.

It was then that it hit him. Suddenly he realized another implication of Marie's pregnancy. If he was still able to father children, if the Taint hadn't progressed as far as they had all assumed... then it was possible that Dane was his son after all. Unlikely, maybe, but definitely possible. He had slept regularly with Anora, back during the time when Dane was conceived, though it had been an effort to touch her after he had seen with Fergus. But it had seemed important at the time to keep up appearances, to avoid letting her know that he was privy to her secret.

He looked intently at the boy, searched the tiny face for clues, but in his heart he knew it was hopeless. They would never know for sure.

 

* * *

 

That night he lay in his cold and lonely bed, kept awake by a powerful rush of arousal, too intense to be ignored. _Damn those warden appetites!_ Once Marie was back, he would keep her in his bed for at least a week. Until then...

He took hold of himself, stroking slowly along his length. But it wasn't Marie he pictured as his hand picked up speed. It was Anora. Always Anora. Anora, writhing under him, crying out his name. Anora, moaning impatiently when he made her wait. Anora, shuddering as her climax took hold of her. Anora, whom he hadn't touched in more than two years. He tried to fight it, tried to imagine Marie's soft warm curves instead, but it was no use. The sheer carnal desire seizing his body at the thought of his wife was too powerful to resist. Thrusting hard into his hand, he moaned her name, unable to stop it from crossing his lips. _Anora._

When he'd spent himself, his hands slick with his own seed, he hit the pillow hard with his fist, fighting back the tears that stung in his eyes. If only... He swallowed hard, tasting the bitter tang of regret.

 

* * *

 

When Percival had sent Marie away, Anora had been more relieved than she cared to admit. True, she hadn't expected him to tire of the girl quite so quickly, but secretly she agreed with his assessment of Marie. Bland and boring. Still, she wondered why he had sent her to Highever of all places. Probably it was meant to be some barbed insult towards Fergus. Making his brother get rid of his mistress for him, as if he was a common lackey.

Her spies reported nothing out of the ordinary, until one day, several months later, when Erlina showed up on her doorstep, seething with anger. "He lied to you, your Majesty."

The maid wasted no time in reporting what she had learned from a young serving wench freshly arrived from Highever. "The Davenport whore is parading her belly there, bold as brass my lady."

Anora's teeth clenched and a shudder ran over her whole body. "You may leave."

"But my lady-" Erlina looked genuinely worried.

"Please, Erlina. I need to be alone to think." Anora rose from her desk and walked over to the fireplace, trying in vain to warm her suddenly icy fingers. Her mind was racing. _Marie was pregnant. What could this mean? How was it possible? Had the girl deceived Percival, played on his male vanity_ _?_ She dismissed the thought almost immediately. Marie simply didn't have the brains to pull off this kind of ploy. Unless someone else was behind it. But who? Or could it possibly be true? Anora swallowed hard at the unexpected possibility that Percival might be fertile after all. Had she ruined her marriage, alienated the most powerful nobleman in the land, for nothing?

Her mouth set in a firm line. None of this really mattered. She needed to think of Dane's future now. Her son was all that counted. He had to be protected at all costs. Once Percival had a new heir, would he dare expose Dane's parentage? Would he try to set her aside, get rid of her and Dane and put Marie in her place? Anora couldn't hold back a bitter laugh at the thought. _He would regret it soon enough._ Yet the fear wouldn't be banished. Percival had every reason to be mad at her, now more than ever.

She desperately rubbed her temples. She needed help, advice, support. She needed to talk to her father.

It was a fortunate coincidence that Loghain was in Denerim on some unspecified Warden business. When she sent him a message, he agreed to join her for dinner. He arrived a little late and they sat down to their meal immediately, just the two of them. She took note of how well he looked, fit and content. The post of Warden Commander suited him. At Vigil's Keep he was his own master, with a clearly delineated task to take care of and the means and manpower to do so. She suspected he was glad to be away from the royal court and its intrigues. Percival, on the other hand, had been just as glad to leave the post to him, unwilling as he was to be too far from the centre of power. A mutually beneficial arrangement indeed.

Anora waited until the servants had removed the last of the dishes and they were alone before she told him what was on her mind.

To her surprise, he merely shrugged at the news of Marie's pregnancy. "Why should this be a threat to you, Anora? You've given him an heir. No bastard child of his will ever be able to compete with Dane's claim."

She bit her lip. "True, except..."

Her father's cool blue eyes were fixed on her, allowing no retreat. "Except?"

Anora couldn't look him in the eye. "Dane isn't Percival's son. When I didn't get pregnant, Fergus and I..."

Loghain exhaled sharply. "Ah!"

It was all he said, but Anora suddenly felt like a little girl again, wishing she could hide her face in her mother's skirt to escape his icy glare. For an instant she actually expected him to scold her, as he would have done back then, in that cold, relentless way he had, outlining every possible consequence of her actions. Instead he just shook his head.

"I truly believe you worry too much, Anora. Percival knows he needs you. If he really wanted to put you aside, he would have done so a long time ago. The Davenport girl's bastard won't make a difference. After all, he could have gone looking for his other child, but he never did."

Anora spun around, her face deadly pale. "What other child?" Her eyes flashed cold rage at Loghain. "Why wasn't I told of this?"

He was predictably unimpressed by her outburst. "Calm down, Anora. It's Warden business. No one knows but Percival, me and the witch. And if you're wise, no one else will learn about it."

"What witch?" If possible, the queen had grown even paler.

Loghain sighed. In a few terse words he explained about Morrigan's ritual and the killing of the Archdemon. "It was a necessity, Anora. The only way to save our lives. I guess I could have done it, but Percival and Morrigan, they... had been involved before, I believe."

"Where is the woman now? And her child? And why in Andraste's name didn't you tell me earlier, Father?" Anora had recovered enough to return to her usual, strident tone.

He shrugged. "What would have been the point? She's gone, and so is her child. Percival never made any effort to find them. I sincerely doubt we'll see either of them again." 

Loghain rose from his chair and reached for his coat. "You know, Anora, this is not like you."

"What do you mean?" Anora's eyebrow flew up.

He snorted. "To give up on him so easily. It's obvious you still care, daughter, as does he. It's about time you swallow your pride. If you want him back, you'll have to fight."

 


	5. Forgiveness

**Forgiveness**

Erlina shook her head disapprovingly when Anora outlined her new plan that night. "Why do you want to lower yourself like this, mylady? What has he done to deserve it?"

Anora stared into the mirror, examining her reflection. There were a few new wrinkles that hadn't been there three years ago, but she was still beautiful. She had put on a little weight after Dane's birth, but it suited her, made her face fuller and her body curvier. If anything, she looked probably more desirable than before.

But would Percival want her? The Davenport girl had been her polar opposite in looks and demeanour, a clear slap in the face for her. And yet, she remembered the way he'd been looking at her on their wedding night, so full of admiration and desire. And only yesterday she had caught him looking at her with a funny expression that could only mean one thing. Anora took a deep breath. The way to win back Percival had to be through his bed.

"He's my husband, Erlina. And he is doing a fine job as Prince Consort." _And he has never treated Dane as anything else but his son, his heir._ "I need to try, at the very least. Now help me with this."

With Erlina's aid she put on a thin nightgown, edged with dark red lace. She briefly considered letting her hair down, but then changed her mind and opted for a loose knot instead. _Not a bride. A wife._

When Erlina was finished dabbing perfume on her neck and wrists, the maid stepped back. "You look beautiful, mylady."

Anora closed her eyes. "But will he-"

"Oh, he will." Erlina snorted. "I've been listening to the gossip of the chambermaids who change his sheets. Your husband is... what do the Fereldans say?... horny as hell without his mistress."

"That should make it easier." Anora raised her chin. "Wish me luck."

She was not as confident as she pretended to be when she reached the end of the secret passage and raised her hand to knock on the panel. She had never done this, not even back when things had still been good between them. He had always come to her, eager for her company, but too courteous to complain on the few nights she'd sent him back.

When she rapped twice on the hard wood, there was no mistaking the surprise in his voice as he bid her enter. The room was almost dark, lit only by the fire burning in the hearth and a few candles placed on the mantelpiece. He had been sitting at his desk, a large goblet of wine in his hands, but when she came in, he jumped to his feet.

For a moment Anora held her breath at the sight of him. He was shirtless and in the flickering light of the fire he looked incredibly handsome, his chest just as hard and muscled as she remembered it, his stomach just as taut. He made a point of keeping in shape, she knew, still sparring every morning, still making time for exercise. _A ruler of Ferelden should be able to lead his troops in battle and fight at the front lines._ His thick black hair was slicked back and he had gotten rid of the silly little moustache some time ago. She liked his face better without it. It was a strong face, a noble face.

"Anora! What are you doing here?" His voice was sharp, not slurred from drinking, but she could make out a faint flush on his cheeks and throat and the wine bottle was nearly empty.

She sent a silent prayer to Andraste. _Please, Bride of the Maker, open his heart for me._ Slowly she stepped closer, keeping her eyes on his face all the time. He didn't seem angry, despite the harshness of his tone, but she was on dangerously thin ice here.

"I've come to ask your forgiveness, Percival." The words didn't come easy to her, but she forced them out. "I... I've wronged you terribly, and I never-"

"This is not something I can just forgive and forget, Anora. You can't possibly expect this." He sank back into his chair again, his face hardening, but there was a hint of insecurity in his features and she decided to take advantage of this.

A few quick steps took her to his chair. In a graceful movement she dropped to her knees in front of him and raised her eyes to him, allowing her guard to slip to let him see the pain and regret in them.

"I'm not asking you to forget, Percival. But I miss you. I-" She put a hand on his leather-clad thigh and a shudder ran through his whole body.

"Anora." Before she knew it, his hand was in her hair and he pulled her into a hard, punishing kiss.

She moaned into his mouth as he dragged her up into his lap, his hands hard and greedy on her waist. Maker, he had never kissed her like this before! He'd always been so gentle, almost in awe of her, but this was different. For a moment, she was almost afraid he would hurt her, but then she saw the expression in his eyes, the sudden, raw vulnerability and she threw all caution to the wind.

"Percival. Please make love to me again."

He groaned at her words and pulled her closer, his lips hot on her shoulders, his teeth nipping at her white skin, leaving marks, but she didn't care. With a ripping noise, the gown came apart, baring her breasts to his touch. His mouth closed around a nipple, sucking so hard she almost cried out in pain and pleasure. He grabbed her forcefully, lifting her up on his desk, pushing the papers aside without so much as a glance and then he was on top of her, his hands taking possession of her with a wild greed that touched something deep inside her.

Was it the wine that had made him forego his usual reserve? Or was it the fact that she had come to him, admitted her wrongs, begged him to have her back? Anora didn't know and she didn't care, not right now when his rough hands were lighting a fire on her skin, when he made her keen shamelessly as he spread her open and licked a long smooth line through her sex. The small sane part of her brain was actually shocked at what she must look like, naked and exposed on the desk, laid out like a whore for him, but she didn't care any longer, she wanted him so much.

His eyes were dark with furious desire as he unlaced his pants. He pinned her hands above her head with one hand, but then he hesitated, just for a heartbeat, fixing her with his gaze. Anora nodded, almost imperceptibly, and he buried himself inside her to the hilt, with no further warning. She cried out, but it was a cry of lust, not of pain. Maker, she had missed this, missed him, missed the fire spreading from her core, racing through her whole body. His first powerful thrust made her arch up high, her nails digging deeply into his back. He didn't flinch, didn't falter, just pulled back and pounded into her again, at an almost violent pace.

Yet she knew he was not out to hurt her, knew it from the way he was looking down at her, from the unexpected gentleness in the hand that held her down. And she wanted this, wanted every hard, punishing thrust, every bite, every bruise he left on her skin as he took her higher and higher until she was screaming hoarsely in his arms, in a voice she no longer recognized as her own. He didn't let go of her, just kept going, his face scrunched up in intense concentration, until she reached up and touched his cheek.

"Percival. Don't close your eyes. Look at me."

His eyes flew open at this and she felt his control break, felt him spill deep inside her, his whole body wrecked by shudders. He collapsed on top of her with a final groan, covering her body with his.

They didn't speak afterwards. She gathered up her torn gown and sat up, flinching when she realized how sore she was. His hand rested briefly on her naked thigh, brushing against the bruised skin in a hint of a caress, but then he pulled back with a sigh and walked over to the washstand to clean himself up. She caught his gaze when he turned to face her. His eyes were unreadable, but as she got up and left he nodded at her almost imperceptibly. Anora bit her lip. It wasn't much. But it was a start.

 

* * *

 

As soon as he was alone, Percy stretched out on his bed, staring at the canopy, trying to collect his thoughts. His head, addled with wine and lust before, had cleared again and his mind was racing. What had possessed Anora to come here and offer herself to him? Why had she done this? Had she learned about Marie, about the child? And if so, what did it mean?

He had never thought he would see his proud, haughty wife like this, on her knees before him, begging him to take her. He'd never expected her to submit to his raw, unbridled passion so thoroughly, almost as if she'd needed it just as much as he had. And maybe she had. They had both wanted it, both enjoyed it. Still, there were so many questions that remained.

Was it all just a ploy to lure him back? Yet the look in Anora's eyes had been honest and sincere, and her body... Her body couldn't lie and what had happened between them tonight had been so incredibly deep, so passionate. He'd never felt anything of the kind, not even when Anora first became his wife, certainly not with Marie.

He sighed. _What will happen now?_ He would have to wait and see, play his cards carefully. He couldn't trust Anora, not just because of this one night. She might well have a hidden agenda. For now, Marie needed to be kept safe. She had to be his top priority.

When Anora arrived to chair the crown council the next morning, she looked calm and serene as usual. For a while, he watched her face for clues, but then he gave up, focussing on the business at hand. Loghain, who was still in Denerim, had joined them, chipping in occasionally with some advice or observation. They worked their way through the reports and were about to call a break for lunch, when the servants announced a messenger from Vigil's Keep.

Loghain opened the envelope with a decisive swipe of his dagger and quickly scanned it.

"What is it, Loghain?" Percival asked lightly.

"Morrigan has been sighted near her mother's hut." Loghain's face was grim.

Anora's eyebrows rose almost to her hairline, but she refrained from commenting. _Interesting_.

Percival shrugged. "Most likely just a rumour. Send a scouting party. I certainly don't have the time for this. And you are busy enough fighting darkspawn."

Loghain nodded. "I doubt they will find her, though. You're right. It's probably just idle gossip."

But as they walked over to the dining room, Percival found his attention drifting, long-buried memories of the night of the ritual rising to the surface.

He'd been embarrassed at first, when Morrigan had come up with her suggestion to sleep with him. Fortunately she had been matter-of-fact about the whole thing, and it had been an offer he simply could not refuse, even if Loghain had been perfectly ready to sacrifice himself. But he had promised Anora to do what he could to save her father. Besides, if there was any chance to avoid losing a valuable ally, he had to take it.

Morrigan had come to his room at night, poised and beautiful and begun to take off her robes, murmuring a spell as she did so. He had stammered and faltered, trying to apologize for his earlier treatment of her.

She had nodded coolly. "'Tis forgotten. You were but a stupid boy. Now let's do what needs to be done."

There had been little passion, and certainly no tenderness in their ensuing coupling. It had been a business arrangement, more than anything. And yet, she had conceived his child that night. Or so she had claimed. This was no normal child, though. Could one even claim to be the father of an Old God reincarnated?

He shivered as he sat down to his light lunch, allowing himself a few more moments of speculation. Where could Morrigan be? Where had she taken the child? Had the reports been truthful after all? He sighed and shook it off. He had enough problems as it was. This was almost certainly not worth pursuing.

 

* * *

The runner from Highever arrived the next day, just after noon. "Your brother asks you to come at once, Your Grace."

Percival ground his teeth. It took all his control not to grab the man by the lapels and shake him. "What-"

"The lady Marie is not well. Teyrn Fergus begs you to hurry. It might already be too late."

 

 


	6. Tainted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for miscarriage.

**Tainted**

Percival galloped through the big outer gates at Highever and reined in his stumbling horse with a curse. The mare was at the end of her strength, her glossy coat foam-flecked, her eyes wide with fear. He'd whipped the poor thing into a frenzy ever since his last stop, and he was almost sure she had taken lasting damage. Never in his whole life had he mistreated a mount like this, and he knew his father would have had him whipped for this as a boy. But none of it counted now.

Fergus came rushing to meet him at the top of the stairs, his face pale and drawn. "Percy. Finally!"

Percival almost dragged his brother through the door. As soon as they were inside where no one could hear them, he turned to face Fergus, his face ravaged by rage and panic.

"What happened, Fergus? What is wrong with Marie? Maker, I told you to watch over her, I-"

"She lost the baby." The Teyrn rubbed his exhausted face. "The midwife and my healer did all they could, but-"

"Damn it, Fergus, this was my child! I entrusted her to you!" Percival's hand flew to the pommel of his sword. "All you had to do was take good care of her. Maker knows, you owe me that much, you-"

"Percy!" Fergus grabbed him hard by the shoulders and shook him. "Stop it. It wasn't my fault. There was nothing to be done. Talk to the healer, talk to Marie, if you must. The child..."

"What about the child?" Percival's eyes were wild.

"It was a boy. He..." Fergus swallowed hard. "I only saw him briefly." _And I hope I never have to see the like again._ "He was tainted, Percy."

All the rage seemed to drain out of Percival's body. He slumped into a chair, his face ashen. "Maker have mercy on us."

He knew what Fergus' words meant. He had seen enough darkspawn corruption in his life. If the child- _Well, at least there can be no doubt this time that he was my son._ He could almost taste the bitterness in his mouth. For a moment he didn't speak, but then he raised his head. "What about Marie?"

"She survived, but just barely." Fergus realized he was trembling. "I'll take you to see her."

 

* * *

 

Marie was very pale, the shadow under her eyes almost violet. They had put her into a large, airy room with a comfortable bed and offered her every delicacy they could think of, but she seemed apathetic, just lying there on her bed, staring into space. The midwife was bustling about quietly, occasionally throwing her a worried glance.

When Percival entered, her eyes widened, but she didn't speak, just stared at him.

"Marie." He sat down on the edge of the mattress, reaching out to embrace her, but she flinched back from him, stiff and trembling.

"What's the matter, sweetling?" He bit his lip. "Look, I'm so sorry and I wish this had never happened, but you're alive and that's all that matters. We can always-"

He'd tried to sound as friendly and upbeat as he could, but she clung to the headboard, as far away from him as possible, her face a mask of fear.

Percival cursed silently. "What is it, Marie? Talk to me."

The midwife who had watched quietly spoke up, averting her face. "She can't bear your touch, Your Grace. She is afraid of what will happen if you get her pregnant again."

Tears were streaming over Marie's pretty face now. "Please understand, my lord, please, I can't go through this again. You don't know-"

"I do." He turned away, realizing there was nothing he could do. "I am sorry, Marie. I won't be bothering you again."

When the door fell shut behind him, he leant against the cool stone wall with a deep sigh, then noticed that the servants were watching him curiously. He just barely suppressed the urge to scream at them, heading for the Tower stairs instead.

On top of the old Tower, he found his old seat on top of the battlements. He'd spent so many afternoons up here as a child, looking out over his family's lands, dreaming of adventure and glory. Old Nan used to throw a fit whenever she saw him perched up there, the sheer drop down the Tower only a hair's breadth away, but he had just laughed. He had never been afraid, back then.

But then he hadn't known what it would be like, being a hero. It had all seemed so grand, so dashing and noble. Even after the fall of Highever, after his parents' horrible death, the excitement had carried him through. He had mourned them, to be sure, but they had been old and their last words to him had been meant to spur him on. They had wanted him to avenge them, to go out and make their sacrifice meaningful by achieving greatness.

Percival had done so, exceeding all their expectations. This was what he was born to do, after all, what men of his station did. He had done his family proud, no, he had accomplished more than any member of his family ever had. He had slain an Archdemon, saved his country. He had become the ruler of Ferelden, at Anora's side. His son would be king. He was a real hero now, just like the ones in the old books.

No one had told him the price would be so terribly high, though. Thousands of lives resting on his shoulders, their fates weighing him down. Hundreds of innocents sentenced to death because of the decisions _he_ had made. Some of them still haunted him at night. Haven. All the misguided cult followers who had died at his hands. The tower mages at Kinloch, everyone killed when he had supported Greagoir's invoking of the Rite of Annulment. The slain werewolves in the Brecilian Forest, no mindless monsters, but victims of Zathrian's curse. So many others.

And finally, the price he'd paid himself. At the time of his Joining, he hadn't cared about the consequences of becoming a Warden. Duncan had been vague and Alistair clueless, as usual, and it hadn't seemed to matter. Even later, when he'd learnt more from Avernus and Riordan, it hadn't seemed so bad. He was still young, he had many years before him. For the longest time he had hardly thought about the Taint. Now the realization hit him with full force. His days were numbered. The enemy was inside his body, clawing at him from within, and this time he couldn't fight back, couldn't slay it with his blade. He was damaged beyond repair, and the poor little creature Marie had given birth to was the ultimate proof of it.

Maybe he should have refused Morrigan's ritual, gone down in a blaze of glory together with the Archdemon, every mistake he'd ever made forgotten in the face of his ultimate sacrifice. Maybe it would have been better to leave the throne to Alistair, to be at peace, remembered as the Hero of the Blight. Maybe it wasn't too late... He stared down at the courtyard, wondering what it would be like to just let go, to take that tiny step and fall, all the way down until his body shattered on the flagstones. No one would miss him.

Percival felt exhausted beyond words.

Then his eye fell on his family's blue banner, hoisted proudly above the ramparts and he straightened up, shaking off his momentary weakness. Whatever happened, he was still a Cousland. He wouldn't shirk his duty. He would be there to see Dane grow up and take the throne and he would make the most of the years to come.

He made his way down to the great hall with a new resolve in his step.

Fergus' face was pale and serious. "Percy. Please tell me if there's anything I can do-"

"You can. Get me a horse and provisions for a few weeks. There is something I need to do." Percival knew he sounded imperious, but he was well past caring.

Fergus frowned. "A horse? What's the meaning of this, Percy? Where are you going?"

"I have unfinished Warden business. Nothing I can tell you about, but it's important."

And it was, he realized. He had to find Morrigan. If his time was limited, he owed it to himself to find out what had happened to her and the child.

"You can't just go all by yourself!" Fergus was visibly worried now. "Let me assemble an escort for you. My men-"

"I don't need your men." Percival's voice was scathing. "I'll be fine." He had already turned to leave the room when a thought occurred to him. "Is Luthias still here?"

He had sent his trusted mabari to Highever for breeding after the Blight. The tiny silver grey puppy Percival had saved from drowning years ago had grown from the runt of the litter into a fierce, strong war dog, and Fergus had been eager to preserve the bloodline.

Fergus nodded. "He is. He's no longer young, but he's still a fighter. I'd feel better if you took him with you."

"I'll head for the kennels straight away. See that my horse is ready as soon as possible." He reached for the door handle.

His brother sighed and made one last attempt. "Damn it, Percival, you're the Prince Consort. You can't just-"

Percival shook his head. "I have to. Please let Anora know and tell her I'm sorry. I need to do this."

 

* * *

Fergus sat down to dinner with a heavy feeling in his stomach. He had expected Percival to take the news hard, but he had hoped his brother would stay, hoped they would have time to talk. Not that he would have known what to say. The memory of those nights with Anora, exciting as they had been, still left a bitter taste in his mouth. He had hardly seen her in the years since Dane's birth, and he had no wish to do so. Even though Percival and he had never been close, what with the age difference and Percival's rather difficult temper, he loved his brother dearly.

"More wine, dear?" Clarissa was smiling at him.

His pretty young wife looked tired. Their little daughter was at a difficult age, always demanding to be picked up and carried around. And the events of the past days had taken their toll on her as well. He knew she was worried about the child in her growing belly, even though everyone had assured her she was in no danger of suffering Marie's fate.

Fergus smiled absent-mindedly back before returning to his ruminations. Percival would probably never forgive him for what he'd done. Blight it, he would never forgive himself. It was tempting to blame Anora for all of it, but in his heart he knew very well that he could have refused. He'd wanted it, wanted her, wanted to get back at his little brother for outshining him with all his glorious deeds. And what better way than to take Percival's biggest trophy for himself: his beautiful, proud wife, his queen. _Pathetic, really._

With a sigh Fergus pushed his plate aside. "I'm not hungry, love. Don't wait up for me, I have a lot to do."

Ignoring Clarissa's anxious expression, he headed up to his study, mentally composing his letter to Anora. He would have to tell her about Marie, about the child. _Maker knows how she will react..._

 


	7. Witch Hunt

**Witch Hunt**

When Percival left Highever, it was already well past noon. His horse was fresh, but this time there was no need to hurry. Flemeth's old hut, where Morrigan had been sighted, was several days away, and she would have probably moved on by now. He hadn't even reached the end of his family's domains when night fell, and he decided to spend the night at one of the outlying farms. No need to forego the comfort of a warm bed and a decent dinner before he had to.

The farmhouse, which he vaguely remembered from his youth, was large and well-kept and the young farmer greeted him humbly. "Your Grace. You honour us with your visit."

He nodded graciously. "I thank you for your hospitality. What's your name?"

"Will Robbins, Your Grace. My father was Old Bob Robbins. He passed away four summers ago."

 _Four summers ago._ That had been during the Blight. But Old Robbins must have been well past his prime. Maybe he had died of natural causes.

Will went out to take care of Percival's horse while he sat down by the fire. Two small, blond children crept closer, watching him with big, round eyes. He smiled at them, but they kept their distance. He was about to ask for something to eat and drink, when the farmer's wife appeared from the kitchen, carrying a large tray with bread, cheese and ale. He thanked her without looking too closely at her face, but then he heard a soft laugh that made him pause.

"My lord Percival! Oh, but I should call you 'Your Grace' now, shouldn't I? You look well." The woman was prettier than he had thought at first, tall and blond and with a lovely smile.

He looked again. "Lucy?"

"The very same." Her smile widened. "It's nice to see you remember me."

"How could I forget?" He found himself smiling back despite his troubles.

 _Lucy_. She'd been a kitchen maid at Highever when he was a boy of sixteen, and she'd been as generous with her favours as she was with sweet treats. When he closed his eyes and listened to her laugh, it took him right back to warm summer nights in the back of the pantry. Lucy's lips, tasting of honey cakes and merriment, her soft, warm breasts, her firm hands on his body. Oh yes, he remembered. Remembered the overwhelming feeling of lust as he came all over those white breasts, and once between her strong thighs. Never anything more than that, for Lucy had been careful. He could still hear her voice. _Now, now, my lord. We don't want your bastard in my belly, do we?_

Just like that the pain was back, and it must have shown on his face, for she reached out impulsively, taking his arm with a worried frown. "Everything alright, my lord?"

He forced himself to nod. "I'm fine, Lucy. Just tired from the ride. You seem to have done well for yourself." He indicated the farmhouse and the children.

She laughed. "Will's alright. A big oaf, really, but he's good to me and the children. And I'm a good wife, most of the time."

There was no mistaking the meaning of the saucy wink she gave him. Percival swallowed. None of the maids had ever refused him or Fergus, for as long as he could remember. He had no doubt that if he gave the slightest indication of interest she would find a way to join him in his bed tonight. And even if her husband found out, what could he do, except feel honoured that the Prince Consort took an interest in his wife? Suddenly he felt sick. If he'd needed any further proof that he was no longer the carefree young lordling he'd once been, this was it. He had no desire whatsoever to cuckold the poor farmer.

"I'm very tired, Lucy. And I have to leave at first light tomorrow." Ignoring her little moue of disappointment, he finished off the remnants of his dinner and went to bed.

 

* * *

 

Anora quickly skimmed the letter from Fergus, then read it again, to make sure she hadn't missed anything. She actually felt a brief flash of pity for Marie. _Poor girl._ Fergus had blessedly spared her the details, but the loss of her child, so late in her pregnancy and under such horrible circumstances must have been a terrible blow. Anora certainly took no joy in learning about it, especially considering that this was a fate that could well have befallen herself. Besides, apparently it was over between Percival and Marie, well and truly over. Fergus had mentioned that the girl intended to go back to her family as soon as she was fit to travel.

As for Percival, he had to be devastated. The letter didn't say a word about his reaction, but Anora could imagine it well enough. To have lost so much, within just a few days... Maker, if only she could be there for him now! If only she could be at his side, lending him her strength. _She_ would have stayed with him, seen this through together, not like Marie who'd run at the first crisis. More than ever Anora was determined to be the wife she had promised to be, the wife he needed. And if he really was still fertile, _she_ wouldn't hesitate to try again.

But apparently he was gone, on his own. "Unfinished Warden business." She remembered the council meeting, shortly before he had left and could hazard a guess as to where he was headed. _Looking for the witch, no doubt_. He had to be in shock to react like this. It wasn't like him, not like the cool, deliberate man she knew.

Still, no matter how much she worried, the Council meeting wouldn't wait. When she announced Percival's prolonged absence, there was a mumble of complaining voices from her assembled lords. They had grown used to his presence, and even though Anora could easily handle any urgent matters on her own, she already foresaw that it would be so much harder to deal with them in the weeks to come. No matter how often she had proven herself as an able ruler, her position would still be weakened without him at her side. _Men!_ The old patriarchs from the Bannorn were the worst.

Bann Ceorlic sounded almost whiny. "He can't just go gallivanting about to follow up some Warden foolery. Ferelden needs a strong ruler. I thought this was understood when he married you."

Anora fixed him with a cold stare. "You were happy enough about this Warden _foolery_ when it saved you from the Blight, Bann Ceorlic. My lord husband will be back soon enough. I don't doubt him for a moment."

Her scathing reply silenced the old man for the time being, but Anora knew this wasn't the last word on the subject. Arl Eamon would be waiting for a chance to show her up as weak and incapable of action. Percival needed to come back, and soon.

She only wished she was as certain of his return as she had just pretended to be.

 

* * *

 

It was almost like a pilgrimage, going back to Flemeth's little hut in the swamp. The last time Percival had been here, it had been with Zevran and Oghren and Alistair. Now Zevran was dead, slain by his own hand when the assassin had finally turned on him. Oghren was with Loghain at Vigil's Keep and Alistair... Maker only knew where Alistair had disappeared to. There had been rumours he'd been sighted in the Free Marches, a common drunkard in a seedy tavern, but Percival was disinclined to believe in them. Or maybe he didn't want to believe in them. His fellow Warden had been a loyal companion, almost a friend, and losing him because he'd pardoned Loghain had never been part of the plan.

The hut looked almost unchanged, although the old hag must have left a long time ago. He took a deep breath of the damp, tepid air. Was that a whiff of sulphur or was he imagining things? Percival was not a superstitious man by nature, but Flemeth gave him the creeps, always had. Swallowing his unease, he was about to open the door, when Luthias growled, his hackles raised. There was somebody inside.

Whatever it was, he'd rather face it, he decided. A single, well-placed kick opened the door. A pretty Elven warrior scowled at him, Dalish by the look of her tattoos and clad in a beautiful set of chain-mail, made from some strange golden-hued metal. Her hair was straight and dark red and the look in her brown eyes was wary.

"What are you doing here, shem? Keep your brute away from me or I will kill him." Her tone was sharp and Percival raised an eyebrow, but he called Luthias back with a quick gesture.

"I might well ask you the same thing. I'm Percival Cousland, a Grey Warden, and I'm looking for the enchantress Morrigan. Who are you?" He couldn't say why he had chosen not to give her his titles, except maybe that he didn't expect her to be particularly impressed by them.

"I'm Ariane. And if you're looking for the Witch of the Wilds, then we have the same goal. She stole something from our clan, and I want it back." The elf was eyeing him with considerable distrust, but so far none of them had made any threatening moves. Even Luthias had calmed down.

"What did she steal?" He leant against a tree trunk, trying to keep his posture noncommittal.

"A book." Ariane's lips were set in a thin line.

He rolled his eyes. "What kind of book? What was it about?"

"We don't know for certain. It mentioned an _Eluvian_ , but we no longer have the knowledge what this means." The elf seemed embarrassed by the admission. "Maybe the magi in the Circle Tower would know, but I doubt they'll talk to me."

Percival straightened up with a mirthless smile. "I might be able to help you there. And in return, you will lead me to the witch."

 

* * *

 

Anora paced the length of her room until Loghain couldn't help himself any more.

"Stop it, daughter," he barked at her in irritation. "Do you think you can make him come back by wearing out the floorboards? If he really is looking for Morrigan, it will take time."

She sat down with a frustrated sigh. "I know. It's just-"

"He's a grown man." Loghain's frown deepened. "Look, for reasons I cannot fathom, you seem to care for him. But there's no need to worry. He will be back safe and sound, trust me. Percival may have his flaws, but he's a formidable fighter. The witch won't harm him and there's very little out there that could do so."

Anora raised her eyes to meet his gaze, revealing the panicked expression in their depths. "I'm not worried he will be harmed, father. I'm worried he might choose not to come back."

Loghain sighed heavily. "That's a different kettle of fish. But I believe he will. Once he's back, you'll have your work cut out for you."

"What do you mean?" Anora tapped her nails on the tabletop in irritation.

"Getting him back into your bed was the easy part." He huffed at her scandalized face. "Oh come on, Anora. I know you and I know him. Of course that's what you tried first. And I bet he was willing. But if you really want him back for good, you'll have to regain his trust. Right now, he suspects a hidden plan behind every move you make."

"You may be right." She hid her face in her hands. "Maker, this is all so messed up. What can I do, father?"

"Hold the fort for him." Loghain nodded slowly, as if to confirm his own words. "Let him see you can be relied on to act in his best interest, even if he's not around. And once he's back, the two of you will have to talk. Seducing him is all well and good, but you can't solve the problem just by spreading your legs."

"Father!" This time she was well and truly shocked by his coarseness. Yet as she watched him leave her room to prepare for his journey back to the Keep, she secretly admitted to herself that he was right. They would have to talk.

 

* * *

 

Percival surveyed the ancient Thaig with a practiced eye. He'd been to enough similar places during the Blight, and they held no terror for him, despite the clear signs of darkspawn activity. His companions seemed less relaxed. Ariane was tense with anticipation and Finn was positively twitchy. The young mage had proven of little use in a fight, a weakling with only a small repertoire of combat spells, but at least he was a decent healer.

On the whole Percival was glad to have Finn with him. Without his help it would have taken him ages to navigate the labyrinth of the Tower library. Finn had known straight away what an _Eluvian_ was, and how to find more information about it. Though, the source of this information had been rather... unconventional. Percival almost grinned at the memory. Talking to statues was unusual, even in his line of work.

It had also been Finn who had proposed to find Morrigan through a scrying ritual. They had already secured a broken mirror shard, and now they were looking for the Lights of Arlathan, some sort of magical device. Percival cared little about the details and was happy enough to leave them to the mage.

Locating the lights was tedious work, despite the strange spell Finn had cast. Of course there were guardian spirits to be defeated as well. Percival was grateful for Ariane's skill with her two swords, and even more for her quiet practicality. Finn's fussy chattiness would have driven him wild long ago without her occasional dry interjections.

"That was the last one." Finn beamed with pleasure as the final guardian went down. "And I'm still alive! We're ready to start the ritual now. I know just the place."

Despite his mask of bored ennui, Percival felt a flutter in his stomach at the thought. Not much longer and their hunt would be at an end. Not much longer and he would see her again. _Morrigan_.


	8. Blood and Seed

**Blood and Seed**

Reaching Morrigan turned out to be far more difficult than Percival had expected. True, Finn's ritual worked exactly as promised, but the release of magic attracted the attention of a veritable army of shades. Percival and Ariane defeated them in the end, but it was exhausting work.

When Finn pointed out the location of the Eluvian on the map, Percival's stomach clenched. The Dragonbone Wastes. He hadn't been with Loghain when the Wardens defeated the monstrous broodmother there, but he had read the reports and knew it had been a close call. It had to be a cursed place, attracting so much darkness.

There was more. An ancient Elven artefact such as the Eluvian wouldn't yield its secrets to just anyone. They had almost reached their goal, when a skittering noise made them look up in apprehension.

"Maker's balls, what is that thing?" Percival had never seen anything like it.

Long, spidery legs, ending in huge pointy claws, scrambled along at an incredible speed. When the creature spit at him, Percival instinctively evaded the greenish liquid. A few droplets landed on his armoured sleeve where they began to sizzle, burning small holes through the solid metal.

Ariane had gone deadly pale. "A varterral. Creators help us!"

It was a desperate fight. Just when he thought it had begun to weaken, the creature pinned Ariane to the floor with a huge claw. Her screams echoed through the clearing and Percival was convinced she was lost. Gathering all his strength, he hacked at the varterral's foreleg until it let go, then took advantage of its momentary loss of balance to slip beneath it and bury his sword up to the hilt in its soft underbelly.

It took all his agility to jump back before the monster collapsed on him. Finn was already busy healing Ariane. To his great relief, she was breathing normally. The claw had only grazed her torso, not pierced it, and Finn's spells easily took care of the gaping wound. 

Having ascertained that she would live, Percival whistled for Luthias and walked toward the massive stone door that was all that separated him from Morrigan now.

* * *

 Anora cursed inwardly when the messenger read out Eamon's letter to the Council. The man had some nerve! No doubt he thought he could take advantage of Percival's absence to come up with the most ridiculous schemes. An invitation for Dane to spend the summer at Redcliffe, "to partake of the fresh country air in order to strengthen his delicate health."

She almost snorted aloud. Dane was robust and active, not even remotely delicate. Besides, there would be few things less conducive to her son's health than a prolonged stay at the Arl's estate. Some sort of accident would easily be arranged, leaving Ferelden in need of an heir again. Doubtlessly Eamon had another pretender hidden away somewhere. Maybe he had even dug up Alistair somewhere. Her own spies had lost track of Percival's former companion months ago. Anora's lips set in a thin line. Two could play at this game.

"I couldn't possibly make such a far-reaching decision without consulting my lord husband first. He told me he had special plans with the prince for the summer months. Please tell Arl Eamon that we are honoured by his request but will have to delay our answer." There were a few raised eyebrows at her statement, her lords knowing only too well that she normally had few qualms in deciding matters of state without Percival.

But it would do. And she was certain that Percival would back her up once he returned. If he returned.

* * *

As soon as they entered the cave Percival knew this was it. Morrigan was right there, in front of the mirror. She looked unchanged, tall and slim and beautiful. It was hard to imagine she had ever been heavy with child, ever gone through the messy business of birthing. And yet, she was the mother of his only living child. Where had she hidden all the time? Were they safe?

Her face was calm and serene, giving nothing away as she watched them approach.

Next to him, Ariane shuddered. "I think she's expecting you."

Percival nodded, but he walked on without missing a beat. He wasn't afraid of Morrigan. Neither was Luthias who recognized her immediately and happily ran to meet her.

She greeted the mabari with a friendly smile, but then got up and gestured for him to stop. "No further please."

She tilted her head toward the mirror. Its surface had turned into a purple, swirling fog. A portal.

"One more step and I leave. For good this time."

He nodded, both as a greeting and to tell her he had understood. "Morrigan. Where does the portal lead to?"

She shrugged. "To another place, beyond this world, beyond the Fade. You won't be able to follow me there. I'll be gone soon. I only remained to see if 'twas truly you."

He said nothing, just watched her and she laughed, almost nervously. "Tell me, why did you come? We had a deal. I save your life and you let me be."

Percival straightened. "You owe me the truth."

"I owe you nothing." Her face closed up like a clam, but then she seemed to reconsider. "But since you've come so far... Ask away."

He took a deep breath. "The child, Morrigan. What happened to the child?"

"Your son." Morrigan nodded. "He's alive and well."

He huffed impatiently. "Where is he? When can I see him?"

"You can't." She raised her chin. "All you need to know is he's in a safe place, beyond your reach. He knows nothing of the destiny that lies before him."

Percival shook his head. "I need to know more. Please, Morrigan. He's my child too and I've never even met him."

She looked at him searchingly, as if to assess his motives. Whatever she found, it seemed to satisfy her, for her face softened and suddenly he could imagine her as a mother, with a dark-haired child in her arms. "He's fine, Percival. Bright and charming, a lovely boy. He looks a lot like you, you know. Just like your other son."

"Dane isn't mine." He didn't even know why he told her, but there was something about this meeting that made him want to drag the truth out into the open, as if by that act he could clear the air and make room for a fresh start. "At least I don't think he is. The taint had progressed too far already, and my wife and my brother, they... I adore Dane. I wish he was my son, but-"

Morrigan raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "You love him, do you not? He's your heir, he's a fine child, from what I gather. Why shouldn't he be yours?" She turned with a snort. "You men place far too much importance on blood and seed. If you want him to be your son, he will be."

He opened his mouth to answer, but then thought better of it. Instead, he extended his hand.

To his surprise she took it, giving him a brief squeeze. "Good bye, Percival. I cannot tarry longer. 'Tis time for me to go."

Percival swallowed. If she left now, he would never see his son. Should he try to follow her? But even if he managed to slip through the portal with her, would he be able to come back? His life was here, he realized with blinding clarity, his responsibilities tied him to this place.

He stepped back. "Will I see you again?"

"Not if you are fortunate." A last slightly malicious smile, and she was gone.

* * *

Percival said goodbye to Finn and Ariane, handed over the book on Elven lore and set out on foot toward Vigil's Keep, Luthias bounding happily along at his side.

He arrived in the late afternoon several days later, weary and footsore. Loghain greeted him in the Keep's large hall. His father-in-law was different here, far more relaxed and self-assured than in Denerim. And the Wardens treated him with the utmost respect, without any of the sidelong whispers and glances he had to put up with in the capital.

Percival was disappointed to learn that Oghren was out on patrol. He had rather looked forward to an evening of Blight anecdotes and drunken fun. Instead, he was introduced to a mage called Anders, a flippant, gaunt young fellow who definitely lacked any proper humility. Anders took him down to the kitchens for a hearty meal, chatting inconsequentially all the while. Percival was about to tell him to shut up, when the door opened and a tall, dark young man walked in.

"Percival Cousland!" The man's voice sounded genuinely surprised. "Or rather, Your Grace, the Prince Consort, I guess."

"Nathaniel. No need to stand on ceremony, my friend. It's good to see you again." Percival hadn't met Arl Howe's elder son since before the Blight, but he had read Loghain's reports and knew he was a Warden now. _A pity, really._ Nathaniel was the last survivor of a noble line, one of the best Ferelden had to offer, no matter how much his father had soiled the family name.

"Your friend, is it?" Nathaniel's dry tone made Percival hesitate for an instant.

It was hard to tell whether the younger Howe held a grudge against him for killing his father. But Percival wasn't about to apologize. Rendon Howe had deserved his end more than twice over and lost his last tiny chance of forgiveness when he had abducted and threatened Anora.

He held Nathaniel's gaze without flinching. "Your friend if you want me to be. I haven't forgotten the old times, Nate. And I'm sorry about Thomas."

Nathaniel's younger brother had been his friend, back then, before Arl Howe's coup. Now he was dead, a victim of the Blight, like so many others.

Nathaniel nodded slowly. "Thank you, Percival. I would say I am sorry about what happened at Highever, but nothing I say could ever do justice to the enormity of my father's crimes. If you agree, I'll be happy to put the past to rest."

They sat down in front of the fireplace with Anders who had watched the whole scene with unabashed curiosity. The wine was decent and soon they were trading anecdotes from the past, laughing about their old pranks. And if their laughter was a little wistful, it only made them understand each other better. They parted at the end of the evening with a firm handshake and a smile.

* * *

 The ride back to Denerim from Vigil's Keep was uneventful, leaving Percival plenty of time to think. Talking to Nathaniel had been both sad and comforting. Here was another young nobleman of his generation, another Warden who had made the same sacrifices he had, who had lost even more, his home, his family, his status. Nathaniel would never have a pretty wife, never have a son. No one would bow to him, very few would sing his praise. His bloodline would end with him. And yet he seemed content with his fate, ready to atone for his father's misdeeds by becoming an exemplary Warden. The thought was sobering.

A light drizzle began to fall and he interrupted his musings to put on a cloak and a hood. _Blighted Fereldan weather_. No wonder the Orlesians hadn't managed to hold the country for long. Only a man born into this place of mud and sludge could love it enough to truly fight for it. Percival chuckled to himself.

His mind wandered back to Morrigan, once again considering the witch's parting words. _If you want Dane to be your son, he will be._ There would be no more children born to him. He couldn't ask any woman on Thedas to suffer what Marie had suffered. All he had was Dane, who must have missed him while he was away. Dane needed a father, someone to protect him against courtly intrigues and machinations.

If he wanted to be a good father to Dane, he would have to find a way to make his peace with Anora. The boy was still little more than a babe, but he would grow up soon and notice the tensions between his parents. There was no way he was going to force the boy to take sides. Anora seemed to be willing to let bygones be bygones. He felt a rush of heat to his groin at the memory of their heated encounter, just before he'd left.

Or had it all just been a ploy on her part? And could it really be that simple? Could he forget about Anora's betrayal, let it rest and start anew, together with her?

He sighed and spurred on his horse. Time to go back.


	9. Back Home

**Back Home**

The first thing Percival did on returning to Denerim was to pay his respects to Anora. It would never have occurred to him to do anything else. No matter what had happened, she was his queen, and he owed her an explanation for his absence.

"Percival!" She spun around when her steward announced his presence, and there was no mistaking the sincere relief on her face. "Maker, I'm glad you're back."

He inclined his head. "Anora. Please forgive my rash action. I had to-"

"You don't have to explain yourself." Anora walked up to him until she was close enough to touch. "You had every reason to be upset."

His head flew up, his expression cautious. "Fergus told you about the child?"

"He didn't have to. Erlina informed me months ago."

Percival stiffened. "Of course you knew. I apologize, Anora. It was foolish of me to think I could deceive you."

"Foolish and unnecessary." She reached out to touch his hand, almost shyly. "I'll admit I was angry when I learnt about Marie's pregnancy, but I never wished... I'm sorry you had to go through this."

Their eyes met and a host of unspoken messages were exchanged between them in the blink of an eye. His regret at having lied to her, her silent admission that she understood only too well why he had done it. Percival felt a wave of shame wash over him. Had he really thought her capable of hurting Marie's child? Still, he wasn't quite sure what to make of the change in her.

He decided to be blunt. "Why are you so honest and open with me all of a sudden? You know I lied to you and you have no reason to trust me."

Anora didn't answer straight away, busying herself with straightening the long, lacy sleeve of her dress. When she spoke, her voice was tentative, almost shy. "Because one of us has to start trusting the other again. One of us has to give the other the benefit of the doubt or we will spend the rest of our lives circling each other warily, like two mabari war hounds fighting. And I don't want that. Do you?"

Percival closed his eyes, sighing wearily. "I don't know, Anora. Right now, I'm really not sure what I want. What you and Fergus did-"

Anora looked up again, meeting his gaze without flinching. "What we did was unforgivable, I won't deny it. I hurt you and betrayed you and I made a huge mistake." She faltered briefly. "I know all this, Percival, but I also know you. And I know you understand why I did it."

Raising her hand to cut off his reply, she went on. "We can't afford to be at odds, Percival. I need you and you need me. Together we're so much stronger. We are surrounded by people who will take advantage of the rift between us if we don't mend it. Eamon-"

"What of him?" Percival's head flew up and his eyes narrowed. With barely restrained fury he listened to Anora's account of the Arl's invitation.

"There is no way Dane will go to Redcliffe." He nodded at Anora. "You handled this perfectly. I will make sure I have a good answer for Eamon ready by tomorrow."

Anora bit her lip. "It will be a long meeting. There were a number of complications caused by your absence."

Percival straightened and took a deep breath. "I'll help you take care of them. And I assure you I won't neglect my duties again."

Anora nodded. "I’m sure you won’t. Will you join me for dinner tonight?"

He declined with a polite shake of his head. "I'm dusty from the road and the journey was exhausting. Tomorrow maybe?"

She didn't smile, but her expression seemed less haughty than usual. "Of course."

 

 

* * *

 

When Percival entered the Council chamber on the next morning, he was surprised to see a host of welcoming smiles. Most of the lords seemed to be happy to see him return. _Or at least they pretend to be._  

At the end of the meeting, Bann Ceorlic drew him aside with a big grin. "It is good to have you back, your Grace. We've missed your voice during the Council meetings."

Percival smiled politely. "Thank you, Bann Ceorlic. I am sure the Queen handled matters admirably in my absence, though. You know she and I are of one mind where the ruling of the kingdom is concerned."

The old Bann chuckled. "Indeed you are. And her Majesty has been as loyal as a mabari to you, don't you worry. Still..." His face took on a sly expression. "If you'll permit an old man a word of advice, having only one heir is a risky thing in times like these. Better get working on a spare, if you understand my meaning."

Percival flinched. Ceorlic's stage whisper had been loud enough to carry over to where Anora was standing, deep in discussion with the Lord Mayor of Denerim. Of course she pretended not to hear, but Percival knew her well. The fine line of tension in her neck was obvious to him.

He smiled back at the bann, his face carefully devoid of any real emotion. "I appreciate your advice, Bann Ceorlic. You know I put a lot of trust in your wisdom. Now let's head for lunch."

 

 

* * *

 

They had dinner together that night, in Anora's suite. It was a surprisingly pleasant meal, the two of them sharing Council anecdotes and little stories about Dane. When Percival announced his intention to take his leave, Anora acted on impulse and put a hand lightly on his sleeve.

"You don't have to go, you know." She smiled at him invitingly. "You heard Ceorlic. If he's so worried about the succession, maybe we should indeed 'try for a spare'."

Her tone had been light and teasing, but Percival remained utterly serious. "It's no use, Anora. Leaving aside the whole wasp's nest of questions as to what was and is between us, I couldn't do that to you. There will be no more children. I can't ask you to risk what happened to Marie."

Anora raised her chin. "And you think that would deter me? I'm a queen, Percival, not some romantic young girl. I'm willing to do my duty and bear your heirs, no matter the risk."

He shook his head. "You're a great queen, Anora. But I've already spoken to the healers and they told me they'd take care of it. It's for the best. And you will no longer have to feel it's your duty to sleep with me."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." Anora bit her lip hard. "Let me be your wife again, Percival. Let's dispense with the lies and the betrayals and the double crossings. Let's start over. Please."

"I'm not sure I can do that, Anora." He rose to leave, his face closing up again. "You ask a lot."

"I know. And I wouldn't ask it of a lesser man than you." She got up too, but he was already a few steps away, reaching for the door handle.

When he heard her words, he turned back, hesitating, but then he shook his head and left.

 _Damn_! Was there no way to make him see?

 

 

* * *

 

The next few weeks passed in a flurry of activities leading up to the Summerday Festival. A number of young couples at court had chosen the traditional season to celebrate their weddings, and Percival and Anora were expected to attend the ceremonies and join the feasting afterwards.

Habren Bryland was the first to get married. Her father had finally secured a match for her, to a young nobleman from Markham in the Free Marches. _Probably the only way to make sure the prospective groom hadn't heard about the less appealing traits of his bride._ Percival couldn't help the cynical thought, but when he saw Habren smile nervously at her new husband, he felt a little ashamed of himself. She looked pretty enough in her fine wedding dress, and maybe she had grown up a little in the past few years.

He had arrived early and when the queen was announced, he rose with everyone else to pay her his respects. There were smiles on everyone's faces when Anora entered the room. Ever since she had given birth to Dane, her presence was regarded as an auspicious sign for any noble marriage. _I wonder if they would still think so if they knew more about how our marriage turned out._ Once more, Percival had to force himself to return his thoughts to the present occasion.

Lady Bryland was looking at him expectantly and he flashed her a perfunctory smile as he led her to the dance floor. "Your daughter looks radiant, milady. She outshines every woman in the room today."

The bride's mother chuckled indulgently as he swept her a deep bow, starting off the complicated series of steps that would take them all the way down the length of the ballroom. "Every one except your wife, your Grace. Her Majesty has never been more beautiful."

He mumbled his thanks, his gaze turning toward Anora. Lady Bryland was right. Anora was leading the dance with Arl Bryland and she looked stunning in a dark blue brocade dress embroidered with little golden wyverns, emblems of the teyrnir of Gwaren. The style was more daring than the dresses she usually favoured, with a full, bustling skirt and a low-cut neckline. The blue colour made her eyes sparkle and emphasised the rosy tone of her skin. Her hair was arranged in a high topknot surrounded by loose curls, far more flattering than her customary tight buns. Oh yes, she was beautiful. Percival swallowed.

His next dance was with Habren, according to custom. He did his best to ignore her insipid chatter, impatient for the following round when he would be paired with Anora. She smiled at him when she took his arm, and to his surprise her hand was shaking slightly. _Why would she be nervous?_

There was a brief pause before the dance started and he pulled her hand up to his lips, aware of the many eyes upon them. "Anora. You look lovely."

She must have heard the sincerity in his voice for her answering smile was genuine. "Thank you, Percival. You look very dashing yourself."

He accepted the compliment with a small bow, feeling flattered that she'd noticed how much care he'd taken with his appearance. His dark red doublet was new, the rich fabric a present from the Orlesian ambassador, and he had spent almost an hour picking a matching shirt and pants. He was quite happy with the result. Especially now that Anora was looking at him with an expression in her eyes that sent a tiny frisson down his spine.

It wasn't the first time she had given him a look like this lately. More than once during council meetings he had felt her gaze on him, warm and inviting, almost like a caress. They regularly had dinner together again, when they didn't have other engagements, and he had begun to look forward to those evenings, talking to her, hearing her laugh. It was almost like a renewed courtship. He had half expected her to show up in his room again, but had waited in vain. It seemed the next move would have to be his.

The music started, a quick, lively dance with complicated steps, but he had always been an accomplished dancer. It wasn't all that different from the leg work required for swordplay, really, and he had a good ear for music. Anora followed him through the routines on light, dainty feet, her hand resting like a feather on his fist. There was one point in the dance where he had to pick her up and swirl her around. His hands closed firmly around her waist, lifting her up with ease and putting her down again. He could feel her warmth through the thin fabric of her dress, divine the swell of her breast when his hand slid a little higher, smell the scent of her hair and skin. It was an electric sensation.

Another quick twirl and this time she swayed a little when he put her down, dizzied by the motion. He quickly caught her with a hand on her back, holding his breath when he touched her naked skin. The people around them seemed far away, like pale shadows and all he could see was her face, slightly flushed from dancing, her long, graceful neck, begging to be kissed, her breasts quivering as she gasped for air. Once more she looked into his eyes, smiling her thanks, and then the dance ended and he led her back to her place.

The wedding progressed with the usual games and rituals until they had sent Habren and her husband off to their marriage bed with lots of good wishes and bawdy jests. Anora withdrew shortly after and Percival only stayed for a quick glass of port with Teagan before he took his leave as well.

 

 

* * *

 

Anora went to bed straight away. The wedding had been tiring, although she had enjoyed herself more than she had anticipated, dancing and flirting. She was already half asleep, when she heard a faint noise and the curtains of her bed were pulled back. She held her breath, wondering what to do, but then a warm body slid in next to hers and she closed her eyes, overcome with joy and relief. _Percival!_

He was naked, hot and hard against her back, his hand sneaking under her arm to cup her breast. He didn't say a word, but breathed a kiss on her neck, so faint she wondered whether she had just imagined it. She didn't dare respond, though her body melted into his as if it had been made for him and him alone.

Slowly, gently, his fingers began to circle her nipple, caressing her through her thin nightgown, becoming more demanding as her reaction showed him how much she enjoyed his touch. Little waves of pleasure ran over her, and she sighed softly. Another feather light kiss, this time on her shoulder, and his hand wandered deeper, settling between her legs, the nightgown still between them. His fingers were dancing over her most sensitive spots, and it felt good, so good she instinctively spread her legs a little further for him.

There was a tiny hitch in his breath. His hand closed around the hem of her gown and he yanked it up hard, exposing her to his touch. The sudden roughness did something to her she couldn't explain and Anora couldn't hold back a broken moan. Percival responded with a needy growl and his hands grew even bolder, spreading her, unfolding her, pushing deep inside her heat.

They still hadn't spoken a single word, but their bodies found their own language, kisses, little bites, trembles and shudders. Feeling his length against the small of her back, she pressed herself back against him in mute consent. She heard his sharp intake of breath, and then his firm hands turned her over and carefully placed a cushion under her stomach to make her more comfortable. When he pushed inside her from behind, in a slow languid movement, it made her insides flutter with pleasure.

His thrusts were carefully measured, teasing shallow strokes alternating with deep, forceful ones until she was keening softly, wishing he would never stop. She couldn't believe she had gone without this for more than two years, without his caresses, without his hard length deep inside her, without his lips on her skin. Then his hand slid down and he touched her with complete and utter confidence. She came apart in his arms, so completely, so blindingly perfect that she was sobbing by the time he pulled out of her, spent and sated.

He held her for a few heartbeats, until the trembling subsided, then let go of her, disappearing silently into the darkness. Anora lay awake for a long time after he had gone, in a curious state between bliss and confusion. Finally she fell asleep, clutching her pillow, breathing in his scent.


	10. Fever

**Fever**

When the news of the outbreak of a new form of plague came from the alienage, no one was overly concerned. The living conditions in the Elven quarter were still poor, and the water quality during the hot summer months had never been the best. The Queen made the usual offerings in the Chantry, while Percival rode through the streets with a concerned expression, listening to the people's complaints and arranging for some measure of relief for the poorest and most afflicted areas.

There was little to be done. If the sickness was treated in its early stages, some people survived, but the old ones and the weak and hungry ones stood little chance. The healers did what they could to alleviate the suffering, but were powerless to cure the disease.

"Why can't you just magick it away?" Percival frowned at the young healer who was reporting to him. "I've been close to death from wounds obtained in battle more than once, but it was never a problem. Why can't you cure this?"

The young man shook his head. "Injuries are different, your Grace. We know enough about human anatomy to fix what is broken. But with a plague like this, we have no idea what causes it. If we did, we could do something about it. As it is, we're not even sure yet whether it afflicts the blood or the lungs first. All we know is people are dying and the best we can do is help them not to suffer too much."

Percival cursed. In the poorer quarters the dead were already piling up in the chantries, too many to give them each a proper burial. If this didn't get better soon, they would have to close parts of the city down completely.

 

* * *

 

Percival was sitting in the shade of a little pavilion in the palace gardens working on some papers for tomorrow's Council meeting when he heard the frightened cry coming from the courtyard where Dane was playing with his friends. With a frown he got up and crossed the short distance.

His son came running to meet him immediately, a worried expression on his small face. "Papa! What's wrong with Cyril?"

The nursemaid was kneeling near the children's tea table, bent over the small body of Dane's closest friend. Percival approached her with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Cyril looked very pale, his eyes glazed over with fever, his body shaken by convulsions.

"Get him out of here. Find a healer, the best you can, but take him away, quickly!" Percival's voice was cold and clear and the nursemaid looked up at him with a shocked expression, but he didn't care.

He had seen enough fever victims in the past few days to recognize the symptoms. He also knew how quickly the plague spread. Cyril and Dane had spent every waking minute together in the past few days. Clenching his teeth, he took his son inside to the nursery.

Dane was fine until the evening, loud and boisterous as always, though he kept inquiring after Cyril. Percival watched him anxiously and Anora, who had been informed immediately, seemed as unwilling as he was to leave the nursery for the night. Yet everything was normal until he kissed the boy goodnight and felt the spike of heat in the little forehead, noticed how quickly he was breathing.

"I'm tired, Papa. And very thirsty." Dane clung to him, sounding whiny.  

He closed his eyes, momentarily overcome, but then he turned to face Anora. "A healer. Quick."

She grew pale, but didn't waste a moment. Percival held the child until the healer arrived. He felt numb, unable to think or plan as he was accustomed to. Dane's eyes were half-closed and he felt very heavy. When they took the little body from  his arms to begin the treatment, Percival looked around, lost and forlorn until his eyes met Anora's.

She stepped closer and took his hand. "It will be alright, Percival. Everything that can be done-"

"Might not be enough." He caught himself and rubbed his hand across his forehead. "I'm sorry, Anora." He turned to face the nursemaid. "Any news from Cyril?"

She curtseyed but didn't meet his eye. "He is struggling, your Grace, and the healer fears he won't survive. Lady Moira is inconsolable."

Percival realized he was shaking. The healer had ordered Dane stripped down and washed with a lukewarm cloth to keep him cool. She had placed her hand on the boy's forehead and was sending waves of healing through the little body. Despite her efforts, Dane seemed weak and listless, crying quietly.

Anora sat down next to him and gathered him in her arms, gently brushing a thick, black lock from his face. "Shhh, my lambkin, everything will be fine."

Dane settled down a little at the sound of her voice. The nursemaid straightened his sheets, her chubby face pale with worry.

Percival took hold of the healer's sleeve. "Are you certain it's-"

She nodded. "I'm sorry, your Grace. See that he drinks a lot, keep him cool. I'll be back for more healing shortly, but his life is in the Maker's hands. I wish I could tell you otherwise."

Percival glanced over at his wife and son. Anora had the child's head cradled to her chest and was humming softly. When her eyes met his, something passed between them that he couldn't put into words. Percival took a deep breath and fought back his tears. _He will live. I will pray and I will keep vigil at his bed and I will drag every healer in Ferelden to his bedside. But he will live._

 

* * *

 

The next two days and nights were an endless ordeal, Dane tossing in Anora's arms, his little body burnt up by the fever, soft whimpers escaping his lips. Percival had never felt so utterly helpless before. They fed him elfroot potions drop by drop, but they could see the boy fade before their very eyes. His eyes looked sunken and he seemed too weak to even cry. Anora remained calm, and Percival was grateful for that. When news came of Cyril's death, he tried to keep it from her, but she overheard the whisper and for an instant desperation threatened to overwhelm her quiet resolve.

Taking a look at her pale, drawn face he grasped her hand. "Get some sleep, Anora. I'll stay with him."

She shook her head. "I'm not leaving him."

Just then there was a commotion at the door. "Let me through, you fools. Loghain sent me."

Percival recognized the voice. "Anders!"

A quick gesture of his silenced the protesting servants. He felt a new surge of hope. Loghain had been full of praise for Anders' skill as a healer. _Maybe..._

"Where's the child?" Anders was already throwing off his cloak and placing his satchel on the bedside table.

With a quick nod, he accepted the bowl of water the nursemaid handed him for washing the dust off his hands. "Let me look at him."

Anora's eyes flicked up to look at Percival's face, and when he nodded, she let go of the boy. Anders ran one of his hands over Dane's forehead, flinching when he felt the heated skin. A faint glue blow emanated from his palms, and Dane looked a little better. The mage sighed deeply.

"His body is doing a fine job fighting the sickness. But the fever will kill him if we can't lower it. See? He's burning up. He needs more fluids and..." He fumbled around in his satchel. "I would like to try this out."

"What do you mean, try out?" Anora's voice was laced with distrust.

Anders raised his gaze to met hers, unflinching. "What I said. There's no known cure for this kind of ailment. But the Dalish have a remedy against swamp fevers that might work. A fellow Warden, a Dalish mage at the Keep, whipped some up for me and I would like to try it out. It's all we have."

Anora shook her head. "And if it kills him?"

The mage sighed. "I don't think it will. But honestly, if I do nothing he probably won't survive for long, the way things are looking now. There's only so much fever a body can take."

Anora exchanged a look with Percival. They both knew the mage was right. All through the night they had watched Dane's condition deteriorate. They had no choice.

Anders had waited patiently, and when they nodded, he produced a small vial from his satchel. It contained a dark green liquid which emitted a sharp smell when he opened it. Picking up a cup, he filled it with water and carefully added three large drops to it.

"Help me with this." He motioned for Anora to hold the boy upright while he gently made him swallow the medicine.

Dane slumped back onto the cushions, his little face pale. Anora bit back a sob and Percival placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. To his surprise she grabbed it, hiding her face in his palm. He swallowed hard against the sudden rush of emotion that threatened to unman him.

Anders ignored them, placing his hands on Dane's chest for another bout of healing. His expression was focussed on his patient as he drew on his magic to give the boy more strength.

Percival lost track of time, watching and waiting, his tired mind running in circles, dizzy from exhaustion. Anora's warmth against his hand was all that kept him from swaying on his feet. They stayed like this for what seemed like hours until Anders finally looked up at them with a smile.

"The fever is going down." There was a world of relief in the mage's voice. "I believe he'll make it."

Percival felt his wife's body crumble under his hand and instinctively got down on his knees to catch her in his arms. "Anora."

She smiled at him, a weak but happy smile and let him help her to her feet so she could approach the mage. "Thank you, Anders. There are no words to express our gratitude."

"You're very welcome, your Majesty." Anders was smiling too, but then his face suddenly grew serious. "Your Majesty? Are you-"

Percival was just in time to catch Anora again as she broke down with a small sigh. "Damn it! Anders, quick."

He cursed his own stupidity as he carried Anora over to her bed, leaving Dane in the tender care of his nursemaid. All through his long struggle Anora had held the boy in her arms, refusing to let go of him. No wonder she had succumbed to the illness herself. Anora was deathly pale when he laid her down on the sheets. Her breath came in quick gasps, her skin was hot and dry to the touch. Anders' face was worried, his movements brisk and businesslike as he undressed her and downed a lyrium potion to prepare for more healing.

"Why her?" Percival knew he sounded desperate, but he didn't care. "Why, Anders? Why couldn't it be me?"

The mage glanced at him, chuckling mirthlessly. "The same reason I am still standing. The Taint."

"What do you mean?" Percival ran a hand over Anora's forehead, willing her to hold on until Anders could heal her.

"It's in our blood, and it seems to protect us. I've seen it before with other illnesses. I guess not even the plague wants to be near the darkspawn taint." The mage sounded bitter, but his hands were already on Anora's chest, the familiar blue glow of healing spreading from his palms.

Percival swallowed hard. The Taint. It always came down to the Taint, didn't it? This was definitely the first time he had reason to be grateful for it. Still, it was cold comfort to know he was safe when everyone else was dying. Looking down at Anora's prone body, he was seized by sudden despair. What if he lost her? The prospect of a future without her, without her reliable presence at his side, the private little smile she used to flash at him during particularly exasperating council meetings, the steel in her voice when she dealt with resistance, the proud line of her neck as she stood by his side...

He closed his eyes, fighting back tears. Was this the price he would have to pay for Dane's life?

_Maker, help us all._

 


	11. Looking to the Future

**Looking to the Future**

"Any change?" Anders entered the bedchamber, a worried frown on his face.

Percival shook his head, looking up at the mage with bloodshot eyes. "Nothing."

Anora was still burning with fever, her body racked by shivers. They had tried the Dalish remedy on her, as well as all the more common cures, but so far to little avail.

"Well, at least she's not getting worse." The mage carefully ran a hand over Anora's face. "And she's survived so far. That's a good sign."

Percival nodded, feeling numb. "Have you checked on Dane?"

Anders smiled wistfully. "He's as good as new. I'll never cease being amazed at how quickly children recover. But he keeps asking for his friend."

"Cyril." Percival swallowed. The two boys had grown up together, spent every waking minute in each other's company. Now the charming blond son of one of Anora's most trusted ladies-in-waiting was dead, having succumbed to the fever. He hadn't even been three years old. Dane would miss him sorely and his parents had to be devastated. _It could so easily have been Dane in his place._ "Thank you, Anders. You saved my son's life."

The mage shrugged. "That's what I do. Any word from Loghain?"

"He should be here soon." Percival got up with a sigh. His feelings regarding his father-in-law's arrival were mixed. On the one hand it would be a huge relief to have him here, someone to share the burden of worry about Anora. On the other hand, he hardly knew how to face Loghain.

"Percival. Maker, you look like hell!" The aged general appeared in the doorway, as if the mere mentioning of his name had summoned him. "How is she doing?"

Anders withdrew discreetly as Loghain advanced to his daughter's bedside. Percival ran a hand through his tousled hair. He knew what he must look like, unshaven, crumpled, exhausted after all the sleepless nights spent first at Dane's, then at Anora's side.

The expression on Loghain's face as he took his daughter's hand made him turn away, ashamed to intrude on such a private moment. Percival heard him swallow, and his own throat contracted in sympathy.

Loghain sighed deeply, then lifted his head to catch his gaze. "The boy?"

"Doing well." A hint of a smile ghosted along Percival's lips. "He's tough and strong, Anders said."

Loghain nodded. "Good. Get some rest, Percival. I'll watch her for a while and wake you if there's any change."

He opened his mouth to contradict, but then thought better of it. A few hours of sleep would be welcome indeed. He headed for the narrow bunk bed the servants had prepared for him and closed his eyes, drifting off within moments.

 

* * *

 

The first thing Anora saw when she opened her eyes was a piece of Erlina's embroidery. A dark red rose on a background of green leaves, so finely wrought it looked almost real. Then her gaze wandered further upward to her handmaiden's pale, haughty face. Erlina was totally engrossed in her task, her brow furrowed with worry, and she didn't notice straight away that her mistress was no longer unconscious.

"Erlina?" Anora managed to force the word past chapped lips, appalled at how weak her voice was.

The effect was immediate. Erlina jumped up with a bright smile, dropping her embroidery to the floor. "Milady!" Reaching for the glass of water on the bedside, she gently put an arm around Anora's shoulder and helped her take a few swallows. "You're awake! Thank the Maker you're alive."

Anora sank back on the pillow with a grateful sigh, taking in her bedchamber, the rosy glow of the afternoon sun shining through the windows, the bottles of medicine on her nightstand, the unmistakable aroma of elfroot in the air. Then her eyes fell on Percival, asleep in an armchair next to her bed. At the sight of him, she felt a smile rise to the surface.

Erlina had followed her gaze and was smiling as well. "He never left your side, milady. Whatever he may say, there's no doubt he truly loves you."

Anora swallowed. "Can you wake him? And then leave us alone?"

Carefully Erlina put a hand on Percival's shoulders and shook him slightly.

His head snapped up and when he saw Anora, a slow smile spread across his face. "Anora." He was at her side immediately, embracing her carefully and closing his eyes, his forehead firmly pressed against hers. "Oh Maker, I..."

"Percival." Her voice still sounded hoarse, and he reached for the water, helping her to take another few sips.

With his help, she managed to sit up, her hand never letting go of his. "Percival. We need to talk."

Percival shook his head. "Not now. You're weak and besides... None of it matters, Anora. All I care about is that you're still with me." Gently he pulled her hand up to his face, placing a soft kiss on her palm. "The thought of losing you..."

Anora felt a tremble along her whole body. She knew they would still have to work this out. No matter what he said now, there would be rifts to mend, painful wounds reopened and cleaned out, before they could truly start anew. But looking into his eyes, she didn't doubt for a moment that it was possible. And when he bent down to kiss her, tenderly and carefully, she closed her eyes and surrendered herself to the moment.

When she opened them again, she saw the hint of fear and apprehension in his eyes and she took his hand firmly in hers again. Holding his gaze, she pressed it as hard as she could, at a loss for words. He returned the pressure silently, but their eyes said it all.

 

* * *

 

Loghain spent the afternoon with the remaining members of the Crown Council, trying to sort out the chaos caused by the Queen's illness and Percival's absence. Anora wasn't the only one who had succumbed to the fever. Bann Ceorlic was still in a critical state, he had been told, and the Lord Mayor of Denerim was absent as well, with no word yet of whether he would survive. His secretary, a pale man in his thirties with a big nose and a prematurely bald head was trembling when he made his report to Loghain.

"Uprisings in the city, you say?" Loghain frowned, making the young man involuntarily retreat a few steps. "Why? What would cause the people to be so restless in times like this?"

The secretary swallowed. "There are rumours, your Grace."

"Warden Commander," Loghain corrected him absent-mindedly. "What kind of rumours would that be? Who started them?"

"It's hard to tell. They say the Queen and the heir have been dead for days and the Prince Consort has gone mad with grief. They demand that Arl Eamon be called in from Redcliffe. Apparently a large mob is on its way to the palace as we speak." The secretary licked his lips nervously. "Is there any news of her Majesty's health?"

Loghain raised an eyebrow. "No. She remains unconscious. They are calling for Arl Eamon, you say? Curious."

"What can we do, your- Warden Commander?" The young man looked at him anxiously.

"I'll speak to the Prince Consort." Loghain's face was grim. _We will have to find out who Eamon's agents are and how we can stop them._

Just then a messenger rushed in and passed him a folded note. Loghain opened it and scanned it quickly, unable to hide his relief.

"My lords!" He looked up, raising his voice so it rang all through the council chamber. "Her Majesty has recovered from the fever. She will live."

 

* * *

 

When Anora learnt of the rumours, her face hardened. "Eamon. How dare he?" Putting her hand on Percival's arm, she looked up at him, steely determination in her gaze. "Help me up. We will show them their queen is still alive."

He shook his head. "Anora, no. You're weak, you've only just recovered. Let me talk to them. I believe I can-"

"I'm sure you can." She smiled at him, her hand clutching his arm. "But it will be far more effective if they see us all. You, me, Dane. My father too - many still worship him for his glorious past. Come on."

He shook his head at her stubbornness, yet knew better than to try to dissuade her. With Erlina's help, she put on her robes and her diadem. A little make-up covered up the paleness of her cheeks. It wouldn't fool anyone from close by, but from a distance she looked radiant, a picture of health and beauty.

Dane who had played at her feet ever since she had awoken, watched her in awe. With a proud smile, Percival picked him up.

"They're here, your Grace." A servant rushed in. "At least a thousand, right outside the palace gates. What are we to do?"

"Blow the fanfares." Percival's voice was calm. "Announce that their Queen will speak to them and lay their fears to rest. Go on!"

When they stepped out onto the balcony, Anora first, then Percival with Dane in his arms, and finally Loghain, there was a moment of stunned silence. Then the cheers erupted, cries of elation and relief at the sight of the royal family, hale and healthy, proving the rumours to be false.

Percival watched from the side as Anora addressed her people, every inch the queen they adored. _What is it they see when they look at us?_ He knew the answer. A strong queen and her equally strong and capable husband, a sweet, well mannered child, a happy young family. Ferelden's future. _If only-_

Anora turned to smile at him, and he realized it was up to him, and only to him, to make that vision come true. Meeting her gaze he smiled back and stepped closer, putting an arm around her waist, lending her strength. The crowd went mad with joy, cheering even more wildly. Anora's smile grew wider and his grip tightened. Silently he mouthed the words that filled his heart, words he'd never spoken to her before. _I love you._

_* The end *  
_


End file.
